


The Other Commander Shepard

by servantofclio



Series: Val Shepard [14]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, other characters will show up soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 104,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Val Shepard is the survivor of Mindoir, Hero of Elysium, first human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, Destroyer of Bahak, and savior of the galaxy...</p><p>... or is she?</p><p>Waking up as an ordinary Alliance officer, Shepard tries to make sense of the world around her, where everything seems changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a work in progress for a long time, so I hope people enjoy it. The Shepard here is Val Shepard, who's appeared in a number of my other fics (and in my avatar), but my intent is for this story to read clearly without knowing my other work.
> 
> All the thanks to theherocomplex and probablylostrightnow for dedicated beta-reading, cheerleading, and hand-holding as I stressed about this.
> 
> We pick up right at the end of ME3.

Shepard fires her gun—but this isn't her gun, is it? She dropped her gun, or lost it. She's not sure when. A while ago. She doesn't remember where this one came from. It doesn't matter. It fires, and that's all she needs. She aims the gun and pulls the trigger, and there's fire, red fire that blossoms around her, fire and smoke pouring out of a mess of wires. The smoke stings her nose and throat, and the fire's too bright, it hurts her eyes

(She always liked watching fire, liked the crackling flames of her apartment fireplace, clean and bright.)

She closes her eyes, and wipes her arm under her nose. There's blood on her face, blood in her nose, blood running down her arm. Her mouth tastes of blood. The side of her head throbs in time with her heartbeat. She tries to catalog her injuries. _Ribs hurt, arm hurts, thigh hurts, head hurts_ — it would be easier to say what doesn't hurt. Her skin feels hot. Burned maybe. Her brain throbs. Amp overload. Too much biotics. She tries to take a step, but her legs won't work right.

She falls. Her knee hits the deck, her thigh, her shoulder, her back, each impact jarring her head and her arm and her side and everything else that hurts. Everything hurts. She stays down. It's cooler to lie on the deck, the metal is cold and hard against her back, against her legs, against her head. Air passes over her head in a vast rush, hot and then cold. Her armor doesn't feel right. Something's cracked and something's poking into her ribs. Every breath takes a greater effort. She has to think about it, now in, now out.

It's getting harder to think. If she stops thinking, will she stop —

Her father used to tell her myths and stories. He told her that Valkyries come for the fallen. Valkyries take slain heroes to their rest, to feasting and glory. She forces her lungs to open and waits for the Valkyrie. She deserves one, doesn't she? This time she can see her death coming. She knew it was coming all the time, but for a while she pretended she didn't. Now she can't pretend any more, but it's taking so long to come.

Cold. It's so cold. Wasn't it too hot? Did she black out for a while? She's not sure. Isn't she supposed to be dead by now? She's not sure. Only that she's cold. Too cold to move, she can't feel her hands or feet any more, can't tell if she's still in armor. Can't tell where she is, or whether her eyes are opened or closed. She can't see anything. Are her eyes closed or is it dark? Where is everyone? She can't speak, can't move, pinned in place or too frozen. Something is twisting, something is falling, all around her, pushing her, forcing her, crushing her.

Oh. She can feel after all. That _hurts_. She tries to cry out as she is bent and compressed by the forces bearing down on her. Everything hurts, everything burns, every fiber of what's left of her body, muscle and bone and skin, could sear away into a puff of ash, threads stretched too tight and heated beyond their ability to bear, annihilating her as they go. She tries to cry out, but she can't hear her own voice. She reaches, frantic, for something, anything to hold onto. If she holds on, maybe the Valkyrie will come. Maybe it will stop hurting. She grabs and pulls and reaches with every spark of will she has. She's always been stubborn. _Pig-headed_ , her mother said, _strong-willed_ , her teachers said, _insubordinate_ , her first CO said. Dad never seemed to mind, though. She asked him why the Valkyries didn't get to be heroes, too, and he spun her stories of Brunhilda the Valkyrie. Dad liked to call her his Valkyrie, but she couldn't reach him in time. Always the wrong place at the wrong time. Mindoir, Elysium, Eden Prime, Alchera, Bahak. A whole string of wrong places, wrong times, but she never lets go once she gets there.

The Valkyrie has to come for her. She's done enough. She did good. Anderson said so. Is there a bar in Valhalla? There has to be, right? She wants a drink. Maybe if she holds on until the Valkyrie comes.

She just has to hold on.


	2. Chapter 1

Awareness came back slowly. A white room. Voices she couldn't quite make out.

Shepard was lying down, on something firm. Nearby, something electronic beeped, quiet and steady. There was pain, but it was a distant, dull thing. She felt like a balloon tethered to that faraway pain, her thoughts bobbing around aimlessly on her own. She had to think about opening her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, stuck together. It took an effort to pry them apart. Then she blinked slowly in the dim light.

Safe. That idea sank into her thoughts slowly. Safe, on a bed, in some kind of sickbay. Not _Normandy_ 's sickbay. With that idea, Shepard blinked again, more sensations starting to register. The sheets that covered her were white and starchy, the bed tidy and regulation, but the walls and ceiling a little dingy. Hurt pressed in on her too, but it still felt far away, not important yet.

What was important, was... it seemed to take a long time to finish the thought. Where. Where she was. Hospital, it must be. Hospital ship? She didn't feel the subtle hum of a drive core, but she might be missing it.

She'd survived. She didn't know how, or where she was, but she'd survived. It seemed like she should be happier about that, but happiness felt as distant as the pain.

Painkillers, she thought. The good kind. The kind that spun you around so much it cut you off from everything. The pain had to be waiting right on the other side of the painkillers, and she'd feel it just as soon as she moved.

She moved anyway. Yes, there it was: pain shot through her right shoulder, and rippled through her ribs. Why always the damned shoulder?

But it wasn't as bad as she expected; bad enough to make her breath catch, that was all. Her neck pinged sharply as she tried to lift her head. Stubbornly, she held it up anyway, long enough to see that all her limbs were present and accounted for: two legs lying under the sheets, two pale hands on top of them. She dropped her head back down, making her neck creak, and breathed in and out slowly while the pain subsided, back to its side of the tether.

She was alive and intact. That was surprising, actually. In fact — hadn't she been burned? She thought she remembered burning, but her skin looked normal now.

She _did_ remember burning. She remembered the smell of her armor scorching and cracking. She'd been shot at least twice. She'd definitely thought she was going to die. But maybe her cybernetics had kicked in. Obviously someone had found her in time.

Her breath caught, and unease floated in to join the muffled surprise and happiness and pain. Just how long had she been out this time? Days? Weeks? Months? Surely not years, not again.

No. She had to believe not years. Weeks since London, maybe. Weeks since —

Panic sheared through the dull haze. She was _alone_. Where was her crew? Garrus? What had happened to the Reapers? What about EDI and the geth? Was the war even over? She couldn't just lie here in a hospital bed while the war kept raging out in the beyond. She was Commander Shepard, she was supposed to be out there, with her crew, leading the fight —

Her breath was coming faster, and her ribs hurt keenly now, throbbing in time with her breaths. Whatever was beeping was beeping faster now, too.

Oh. That was her, wasn't it? Some kind of monitors. Consciously, Shepard took slow, careful breaths. If she was in a hospital, if there were monitors, then there must be somebody watching the monitors, and whoever it was would have answers.

With an effort, she lifted her hand. Her shoulder twinged as she fumbled her way to the button on the side of the bed. Pushing it felt like a minor victory. Not up there with ending Kai Leng or destroying the Reaper on Rannoch, but, oh... about on par with liberating a fuel refinery from Cerberus.

She only had to wait a few minutes before a middle-aged medic bustled in. The sight of the familiar Alliance medic's uniform unlocked something in her chest that she hadn't even realized was tight.

"Commander, it's good to see you awake," the medic said cheerfully. She checked the monitors and proceeded to run through the standard vitals checks with brisk efficiency. Shepard complied with the instructions and answered the medic's questions. Nothing she said seemed to mar the other woman's calm demeanor, so... that was probably good.

"How long have I been out?" Shepard asked when she had a chance.

"It's been about three weeks since, um. Since the battle," the medic replied. "You were checked into this facility two days after that."

Shepard let out a slow breath. Three weeks, that wasn't so bad. It didn't explain where her crew was, and she hated the feeling of missing time, but three weeks... she could catch up with that.

The medic continued, "We're on Terra Nova, by the way. Most of the allied forces rendezvoused here after retreating from the Sol system. Everyone has set up administrative posts and hospital facilities here for the time being. Until the relay network is up and running again, of course." Her mouth twisted, and her eyes darted to the side for a moment. She set about adjusting the bed so Shepard was sitting up instead of prone.

"The relays—" Shepard said, but she couldn't get the question straight in her head before the medic plowed on.

"You're doing very well, Commander. Healing remarkably quickly. It must be the augmentations, eh? I haven't seen implants that sophisticated before. I think we can taper off on the painkillers." She tapped a couple of buttons on the machine by the bed. "It'll give you a clearer head. Just push the lever here for another does if you're in too much pain. Are you feeling up for any visitors? There's someone waiting to see you, and you can have a few minutes for a visit, if you like."

Relief coursed thorough Shepard at the idea of seeing a familiar face. She took a deeper breath and regretted it when her ribs throbbed. Someone she knew — Garrus, probably, or maybe Tali or Liara or even Miranda, but hopefully Garrus — someone, anyway, who could tell her what was going on, help fill in the details. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great, I'll send her right in." The medic left, footsteps tapping quickly away over the floor.

The pronoun was disappointing. Shepard only had a moment to feel the disappointment before she heard a flurry of voices in the corridor, the medic saying, "Right this way, ma'am, yes, that's the room," and then a woman appeared in her doorway.

"Val! You're alive!"

She stared at the apparition in front of her, but it never resolved into anyone she expected to see.

Her mother was dead. Val Shepard _knew_ this, with a cold, bone-deep certainty. She had seen her mother dying, riddled with half a dozen shots, when she'd sprinted back from her morning run to their smoking house. (The slavers preferred their captives younger. More trainable. More compliant.) Val had stood in the doorway gasping for air, her legs burning, and her mother had been choking on her own blood when she'd told her daughter to run, find her father, hide, _anything_. Val Shepard had spent a long time trying to forget the sound and the sight of blood spilled across their tidy kitchen floor.

This mother didn't seem to know that. She was already striding into the room with arms outspread.

Shepard cleared her throat. "M- mama?" she said, tentatively. "I don't... I don't understand." Her thoughts spun in turmoil. This made no sense. Was she hallucinating? It couldn't be the painkillers, could it? Everything felt almost too sharp and clear; she could have wished for the comforting distance of her first awakening. Was it the Reapers, messing with her head somehow?

Her mother — or whoever she was — checked herself and regarded Shepard with her brows drawn down in a way that was so familiar Shepard's shoulders hunched instinctively. The ghosts of shame and adolescent resentment seemed to gather around her. How many times had she been on the receiving end of that look?

"Valenka." The woman shook her head. "Forgive me. Val. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but how could you think I wouldn't come when you needed me?"

Shepard had to fight the urge to squirm under this maternal disappointment. "It's not that... I just... I thought you were dead, Mama." She couldn't believe the words were coming out of her mouth. She couldn't believe this was _happening_. Was it some kind of plot? Cerberus, maybe? But how, why have someone pose as her _mother_?

It couldn't... it couldn't possibly be true, could it? Were her memories that fucked up? Her head hurt, an ache like someone pounding on her skull. Val lifted one hand and pressed it against her temple. This woman didn't look quite like she remembered Mama looking, like the handful of pics she'd kept all those years. Her face was more lined, brown hair shot through with silver strands. She wore it longer than it had used to be, pinned up in braids.

The woman's face cleared, her brows going up. "Oh, no, didn't you get my messages? Mindoir evacuated in time, devochka. We're fine. We're all fine." She crossed the room, patted Val's arm, and kissed her on the forehead before she could say anything more. "We're not even sure the Reapers actually reached the colony," she said, settling into the bedside chair. "Your father and Misha are anxious to get back and see how much damage there is. Once the relays are repaired."

Shepard sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "Dad? And Misha?" She had to have lost her mind for real this time. She was hallucinating. Or it was a very complicated, very bizarre plot that she didn't understand at all. She couldn't possibly have had delusions of an entire life in which her family had been slaughtered... could she? What kind of person would do that?

Her mother patted her arm again. "They can't be here, dear. I tell you, it was such a relief when the comm buoys came back. At least we can talk to each other again, once in a while. Your father is helping to coordinate supplies and relief to the refugees. Well, I suppose nearly all of us are refugees, one way or another. Misha is on Eden Prime, he was fighting with the militia there."

Val closed her eyes. Her throat felt tight. She remembered her second brother as ten. A sweet, good-natured boy who was fascinated by bugs, who'd had trouble with the school bullies until she found about it and put a stop to it. Impossible to imagine gentle Misha with a gun in his hands. Her forehead seemed to burn where her mother's lips and touched it. She licked her lips and had to try twice before she could get the words out. "And... what about the others?"

"Vanya was wounded a few weeks before the last push. He's recuperating on Titan. Oh! He sent you a message. He says—" She checked her omni-tool. "—'tell V I'm glad one of us was in London. Sorry to miss it.'"

"London," she repeated numbly.

Mama frowned at her. "Don't you remember? Should I call the medic?"

Val rubbed her forehead. "No, I thought I was in London, but..." But she'd also thought her family was dead. Ivan — no one called him Vanya but Mama, even when he was small — was her youngest brother. He'd been only seven when he died in the wreckage of his school.

Her mother stroked her hand, gently. "Operation Hammer, they called it. I don't know all the details. But the medics said you were injured then. There were a lot of casualties. We weren't sure you'd survived at first. It took me a week to track down which hospital they put you in." She made a little disapproving grunt. "The military, they're always losing things."

The details matched, at least, but why... how could she remember her family dead so clearly, if they were all alive and well? What was Mama even doing here? If... if she was really Mama. Shepard licked her lips again. "Did we... did we win?"

Mama was silent for a moment, frowning again, and dread gathered into a knot in Shepard's stomach. "I suppose we must have. The fighting's over, at any rate."

Val frowned in her own turn. "But?"

Mama's lips pursed. Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. Val recognized this expression, too: it was the one Mama used when she didn't understand something, but didn't approve of it anyway. "Well. The Reapers stopped attacking us, at least."

"But they're not _gone_?" Val tried to sit up. Several monitors beeped shrilly.

"Now, now, none of that," said Mama, leveling a glare at her. "Didn't that nurse tell you anything? No. They're... fixing things, I suppose. The comm network. The relays. That... energy wave that ended the battle must have done it, but if anyone knows why, they're not saying." She pursed her lips again.

Val collapsed back onto her pillow. Her heart fluttered like a wild thing in her chest. "Fixing things. The Reapers."

Mama shrugged. "So it seems. Can't believe everything you hear, you know. They were the ones to blow it all up, so they might as well fix it, but I don't know why they'd help us."

Shepard didn't know, either. That wasn't the outcome she'd wanted. She'd raised her gun and fired. "I don't understand," she said softly.

Mama laughed. "Nor you nor anyone, eh? Don't worry about it. You concentrate on getting better."

Shepard stared at the ceiling. She'd thought she would die, but here she was, and her family was somehow, impossibly, alive: Dad and Mama and Ivan and Misha and— "Mama, you told me about Dad and Misha and Ivan, but not Alex." For a moment dread caught at her throat; what if Alex had been gone for a long time already?

"Oh, Sasha sent me a note to say he's well. Came through as soon as the comm network came up. He didn't say where he is, though. Something classified, I suppose, you know how he is." Mama shook her head.

Did she? When Val was sixteen and Alex was twelve, he had been the smart one, clever and prickly and small for his age, and she'd overheard the teachers saying he could do great things if he had a better attitude. She didn't think of him as secretive. But then, he'd be — he was — twenty-eight now. A lot of time had passed. People changed. She'd changed. When she was twenty-eight, she'd been an N7 operative already. What were her brothers, since they were alive? "Right," she said faintly.

"It's strange, I came here looking for you, and they thought I meant the other Commander Shepard." Her mother kept stroking her hand absent-mindedly. "I had to tell them, no, no, I mean my _daughter_. I've been here two weeks, and still I correct someone almost every day." She sniffed.

Val swallowed. Her throat suddenly felt dry. "The... other Commander Shepard?"

Her mother frowned, as if she were particularly dense. The motion of her hand stopped. "Da, you know, the famous one? John Shepard? The Spectre? From the Battle of the Citadel?"

Shepard's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Everything felt too dry and too cold. She was distantly aware that her lower lip had cracked. Wildly, she cast out a line. "I thought... didn't he die years ago?"

"That's what they said." Mama leaned forward, her pale eyes bright. "You can never trust the news, you know that. If you ask me, it was all a cover-up from the start. Some kind of undercover assignment they didn't want anyone to know about. Working with those Cerberus people, maybe. You know how they are."

Val flinched at the words, and the intensity of her mother's stare. " _They_ who, Mama?"

Mama sat back in her chair, waving her free hand dismissively. "Those Council people, probably. Who knows with aliens?"

Val blinked, not sure whether her mother thought the Council was behind the cover-up, or Cerberus, or what. Mama kept talking, oblivious to Val's expression: "Anyway. That other Shepard is in this hospital, but no one's let in to see him. Everyone's talking about it in the halls. They don't expect him to survive. Burned to a crisp, they say, and still in a coma."

 _Burned to a crisp_. Shepard remembered heat, suddenly, and pain; her armor cracking, and a voice saying, _You will lose everything you are_.

Val shook her head and looked down at her arms, quickly, but the skin was intact. Pale, traced with green and yellow bruises, but not scorched or blackened. "Oh," she said faintly. "That would... be a shame."

"Are you all right, dear? You're white as a sheet." Mama frowned.

Shepard looked away from her concern. "I'm just... tired."

The medic from before stuck her head in the room. "How are we doing here? Oh, Mrs. Shepard, I should ask you to leave. Our patient needs some rest."

"Already?" Mama's hand tightened over Shepard's. "I've only been here a few minutes."

The medic gave her a tight smile. "Rest is very important to recovery, ma'am. I'm sure you know that."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll hardly be any trouble. She needs her mother."

"Mama," Val interrupted. "Let's not argue?"

Her mother turned toward her with a frown, but her expression softened almost at once. Val winced. She must look truly terrible. Her mother had always liked to fuss over the children when they were sick.

Mama gave her another pat on the hand and rose. "I'll call your father and brothers and tell them you're awake. Have them call me any time you want to see me, dear."

"I... I will, Mama."

She closed her eyes as her mother bent to kiss her cheek. She smelled... right. Like Mama. Those faint whiffs of tea and lavender and something distinctly _Mama_. It was a scent that made her powerfully homesick, and she couldn't bring herself to look as her mother's footsteps retreated out of the room.

The medic came over to check her vitals again. "We'll try you on solid foods the next time you wake up, okay? It must be nice to have your mother here." She sounded a little wistful.

"Yeah," Val said, "it's just... strange."

The medic nodded vigorously. "I got word from my dad just the other day. It's such a relief, to know he made it, you know? Since so many people didn't."

"I... guess I got lucky," said Val, feeling dazed. "It sounds like the whole family's okay."

The medic sighed. "That _is_ lucky. And you're really recovering well, too. But get some sleep for now, all right? I'll dim the lights, and you can call if you need anything. The button's right there. Someone's always on duty."

"Thanks."

After the young woman had left, Val Shepard stared at the ceiling.

What the hell was happening?

Her mother was here. Her mother was dead, but she was here. She was Val Shepard, she wasn't the famous Commander Shepard. _The_ Commander Shepard, the one from the Battle of the Citadel. The Spectre.

If she wasn't the first human Spectre, who was she?

She was Anna and Daniel Shepard's daughter. Alex, Misha, and Ivan's sister. She hadn't been those things since she was sixteen.

_What was going on?_

Maybe she was hallucinating. There was probably a better than even chance of that. Maybe she'd finally snapped, and this was some sort of delusion. Or maybe the whole life she'd thought she'd had until now had been the delusion. A psychotic break? Maybe she had never regained consciousness after all, and this was all some sort of dream?

Experimentally, she let her fingers dig into the soft skin of her waist and pinched, hard. It stung.

Not a dream, then. Probably. No whispers in the woods, this time, no child bursting into flames. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that her mother should be dead and she was here.

Her crew. Where was her _crew_? She couldn't have just... made them up, could she? How could she? She never would have invented half of those people.

Or maybe, just maybe, someone was screwing with her. Could be Cerberus. Or... someone else. There were plenty of people with grudges against her. But what could they possibly gain by presenting her with a false version of her mother?

Where was the lie? Which life was the false one? The life she had, but couldn't remember, where she was one of the lucky ones who'd survived the war with mother, father, and brothers alive? Or the life where she stood alone, the only survivor of a catastrophe, with a glittering career and an assortment of friends to hold her together?

She kept looking at the ceiling, but she could not resolve the question for herself before her eyelids grew too heavy to stay open.


	3. Chapter 2

When Shepard woke again, a different, quieter medic appeared to take her vitals. She ate a little food, bland military rations. Her mother didn't appear at once, so she wondered if she had imagined the whole scene of the day before. Maybe it was an effect of whatever head injury she'd had, or the meds. She lay in her drab bed and stared at the dingy ceiling and wondered if she'd lost it this time. She wondered if she could possibly obtain an omni-tool or a book or, hell, anything to pass the time. Instead, she dozed fitfully.

But a few hours later her mother came back, ushered in by one of the staff, and sat down by Shepard's bedside. "How are you today?"

"I'm... fine, Mama. Where were you?" Her voice sounded weak in her ears, querulous. She frowned, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

"I can't be here all the time. I'm working with the quartermaster. There's a lot to do, you know." Mama set down her bag and rummaged inside. Shepard squinted as a ball of green yarn and needles emerged from Mama's bag. Knitting. Mama had knitting? She didn't remember Mama knitting before. She tried to focus as her mother kept talking about her work, something about the logistics of feeding and housing so many people, refugees and wounded...

"You never used to work," she found herself blurting out.

Mama's knitting needles stopped. She stared at Shepard with narrowed eyes and then snorted. "You left home a long time ago, Valenka. Even your baby brother left home five years ago. You think I've just been sitting around dusting the furniture?"

Val flinched, embarrassed. She did remember her mother as fully occupied with her four children, the youngest born when Val was nine. "We wanted a big family and the space to raise them in," Dad had always said, and Mama had usually responded with that snort as she looked around at their tiny colony prefab house. "We could do with a little more _space_ , if you ask me," she'd say, and then usually one of the boys would start demanding his own room.

"No, of course not," Val said hastily now.

The brisk movement of the knitting needles resumed. "You know I've been in colony administration for years. Honestly, don't you even read your messages?"

"Of course I do." Val picked at the edge of the sheets, looking away from her mother. "Sorry. I just... it's easier to remember when we were small."

"Hmf." Mama sniffed. "Well. I suppose Ivan was still young when you left home. But yes, Valenka, your mother _is_ a real professional."

"I never meant you weren't—"

"And this place could use it. Humans, turians, salarians, asari, krogan — do you have any idea how much krogan _eat_?" She shook her head. "At least the quarians are mostly staying in their ships. Good people, they help us a lot."

Shepard kept quiet and let her mother talk. Mama was positively animated as she explained the complicated business of managing supply chains on a planet suddenly full of injured people of more than half a dozen different species. The quarians were pushing their liveships to their maximum agricultural output, apparently, and everyone was having to coordinate shipping goods around the Exodus cluster at sublight speeds. It sounded very complicated, the sort of logistics that gave commanders fits, that would have had Shepard herself tearing her hair out. Shepard stared at this stranger who seemed to be her mother and wondered, for the first time, what it had cost her mother to stay home with four rambunctious children in a tiny house while her husband worked out in the labs and fields every day. Dad's work as an agronomist had been vital to developing crops that would adapt to Mindoir's soil and ecosystem. Val didn't remember her mother ever complaining about her father not being home enough.

"Mama?" she said before she thought, interrupting her mother's stream of conversation.

"What is it?"

"Did you miss working, when we were little?"

Mama frowned at her knitting. Val watched the pucker in her forehead, her eyebrows drawing together. It was a familiar expression, too familiar to be something she hadn't seen in years, wasn't it? "Sometimes," she answered after a moment.

"Then why didn't you?" There must have been professional child care even on their colony, right?

"I didn't have children so someone else could raise them." Mama's frown deepened. She sighed and began to unravel her knitting. "Easy, they said. Something to keep your hands busy. Pff."

Val frowned herself. "You're — did you just learn to knit?"

"Have you ever seen me knit before?" Val shifted uncomfortably, but Mama kept talking without seeming to notice. "As if I ever had a minute to sit down, with all four of you. No, no, a lady at the office showed me. Before you woke up. Something to do to keep your mind off things, she said." Her hands were so steady and her eyes so focused on the yarn in her hands that Val barely caught the tiny waver in her voice.

Guilt made her shoulders hunch. "I'm... sorry, Mama."

"What for? For doing your duty?" Her mother's voice was harsher now. "For fighting those... Reaper monsters? No. You did the right thing. I know you didn't have much choice about joining, with the biotics, but you have served well."

"I..." She swallowed, jarred by the sudden _wrongness_. She hadn't discovered her biotics until the slavers attacked. She'd only had her basic biotics training after age sixteen, along with her foster care and her grief therapy. If the batarians had never attacked Mindoir — what then? She'd gone to the Alliance Academy so she could return to the colonies and protect them. Hadn't she? Or had she been... conscripted, somehow? She couldn't summon up any memory of it, or any other memory of finding out her abilities. Her fingers closed, crumpling the blanket. What did the Alliance do with biotics who didn't volunteer? "Well. I'm here and awake now."

Mama sniffed. "Of course you are. You're made of strong stuff. I always knew that."

Shepard blinked, caught off guard. She couldn't recall Mama ever saying anything like that before. If she thought back, she remembered a lot of scolding, a lot of _Behave yourself, young lady_ and _You'd be so pretty if you just did something with your hair_ and _Why must you run so wild with the boys_ and _Take care of your brothers_. She and her mother had never been that close, had been at odds more than otherwise. There were too many younger brothers to get much time for mother-daughter bonding, and the things Val had liked, like running in the woods and fields around the colony, weren't her mother's sort of thing, anyway. Things had been especially bad when she was a teenager, and she couldn't remember any more what they'd fought about, just a haze of shouting at each other before she either grabbed her running shoes and went out, or went into her little bedroom and slammed the door.

But if — since — her mother was _here_ , they must have... they must have gotten over that at some point, right? They'd had sixteen years of adulthood to work things out. Half a lifetime. And — she couldn't have been home all that time, if she'd been on active duty, but they must have talked. Right? Of course they had, Mama had even mentioned messages. She must have visited. Sometime.

Her missing memories taunted her, a giant gap of connection or reconciliation that she had no access to. Except they weren't missing, were they, not really? Her memory was just full of something _else_ : her foster family, her military career, her crew, her friends. Shepard was used to going it alone, used to taking care of herself. She had responsibilities to others, sure, but they were bonds of duty and camaraderie and professionalism— and later, friendship. If none of that was true, then who was she? What was she like? Did she send messages to her parents after every mission? Did she keep tabs on her brothers? They would all be grown now, living their own lives, and Shepard couldn't imagine herself doing any of that. But was she a dutiful daughter, in the end, a good sister? Or a terrible correspondent? She didn't know, and the lack frustrated her, made her cast about for something she couldn't quite see, perpetually lingering in her blind spot, shifting further out of reach whenever she turned her head.

Something of her confused reflections must have shown on her face, because Mama said, "What?"

Shepard shook her head quickly. "It's nothing."

"Tsh." Mama looked at her severely. "You're a poor liar. You always have been. Do you think your mother can't see right through you?"

Shepard's lips twitched, in spite of herself. She'd kept her share of secrets, and she'd learned how to bluff, but Mama was right: she'd never been good at the bald-faced lie. She had to prepare for one, gear up for it like it was a mission. No, she told the truth, most days, no matter how hard it came back to bite her in the ass. Except—

—except that wasn't her, who'd told the truth about the Reapers for the last few years, was it? It was that other Shepard. The famous one.

She rubbed her forehead. She didn't understand any of this. If she was hallucinating, it was an extremely detailed hallucination. If it was some kind of scheme or ploy, it was a frighteningly realistic one.

And Mama was still waiting for a response, lips pursed and eyebrows raised in a familiar expression. Since she was a bad liar, Val gave her a little of the truth: "I just didn't remember you saying anything like that about me before."

Mama huffed out a little puff of air. "Why say it? It was clear enough. All those bruises and skinned knees. Running wild with the boys." She shook her head, and she was smiling. _Smiling_. A fond, indulgent little smile. She hadn't smiled about any of it back then.

Maybe this wasn't really her mother after all. Shepard's fingers curled into the blanket. "But... you were always scolding me for that..." she protested.

"How else was I going to make a young lady of you? You got into fistfights, devotchka. How many times did you come home with a black eye, eh? Or skinned knuckles?"

"Not that many!" It had happened a _few_ times, sure, but not more than three or so. Had it? She ducked her head, trying to remember.

"No, because you gave more than you got." Mama shook her head again. "Do you know how many times the other parents called me? Hmph. I told them, if their boys couldn't hold their own, that was no fault of mine. Or yours. Pff." She frowned at her knitting.

Shepard had no idea what to say. It was as if the pieces of her childhood were rearranging themselves in front of her eyes, or as if someone had whisked back a curtain to reveal the levers and gears at work. Maybe she couldn't trust even her more distant memories? "You never said anything like that," she said faintly.

"What, should I have encouraged you? No. Especially not after you hit your teacher."

"That was an accident," Shepard said, sure her cheeks were burning, and hoping the facts lined up right. She _had_ hit Mr. Salazar, but only because he was wading into a fight she was having with the Macmillan twins, and _that_ had only been because they were picking on Misha, and he'd only been five or six at the time, and Mama had _told_ her to look after her brothers...

Mama clicked her tongue. "I know it was. But it looked bad, you understand? Hitting a teacher and fighting with those younger boys, even if there were two of them. Such a mess. We had to do a lot of talking with your principal."

"Oh," she said faintly. The stories matched up, and she supposed that was good. Still, her perspective felt turned on its head. Maybe it was just the fact of hearing how her mother saw things, or looking back on the events as an adult. She'd been twelve or so, fired up with a ferocious drive to protect her little brothers, and she'd charged in without thinking through the consequences, determined to teach the Macmillan bullies a lesson. She supposed they were all lucky her biotics hadn't flared up yet, or she might have done more serious damage.

"I always knew the boys were safe with you, though."

"Oh." Val stared down at her hands in her lap and relaxed her death grip on the blankets.

"You're a good big sister. Always good at taking care of the boys."

"Thanks," Val said hesitantly.

Mama chuckled. "Look at me, getting all sentimental. Let's have enough of that, eh?"

"Mama," she said, and then stopped herself. Her whole life, she'd never known how she got the eezo exposure that had made her a biotic.

But she could ask, now, if she could get past the hesitation clogging her throat.

"What?" Mama said.

There was a knock on the door, and an aide appeared with two trays.

"Here's dinner," Mama said with some satisfaction. "What was it you were going to say?"

Shepard reached out and accepted the tray. Did she need to know? "Nothing."

#

When Shepard was finally allowed to get out of bed and start physical therapy, the routine quickly became familiar from previous injuries, which was to say it was gruelling, painful, tedious, and irritating. Her injuries, plus three weeks' unconsciousness, had taken their toll, leaving her weak and fragile and wobbly. She set herself to the therapist's prescribed exercises with dogged determination. It quickly became a routine: breakfast, work on her legs, lunch, work on her arms and shoulders, dinner, collapse into bed. She could tell she was making progress, which meant it must be happening quickly. "You're doing very well," said Lara, one of the therapists, watching her walk and scribbling notes. "It's unusual." She frowned at her records, tapped something on the pad, and then her face cleared. "Oh, you're in the cybernetic enhancement group. I've only seen that once or twice before. That explains a lot."

"Right," said Shepard, wishing she could actually run on the treadmill. She would get there—she could almost feel the cybernetics starting to kick into gear, rebuilding damaged bone and muscle—but for the moment, walking had her sweating enough. Then her brain caught up with what Lara had said. "What?"

"Cybernetic enhancement group?" Lara said. "The Alliance was running a thing with volunteers before the war started, cybernetic physical enhancements on top of the usual genemods. It's right here in your file." She waved the datapad, as if Shepard could read it from her position on the treadmill.

"It is?" Shepard said, and when Lara looked puzzled, she hastily laughed and added, "Good, it didn't used to come up right in the file."

Lara shook her head, making another note. "Gotta love Alliance record-keeping, huh?"

Shepard forced another laugh. Her heart was pounding more than the level of exertion really called for. She itched to grab that file and look it over for herself, maybe find out more about whatever _cybernetic enhancement group_ she was supposed to have been a part of. She was used to thinking of her cybernetics as unique, designed by Miranda's team on the Lazarus Project, legacy of that and the series of questionably legal tech shops on Illium and elsewhere that they'd visited in the days of the Collector mission. Back then, any edge had seemed worth it, and Dr. Chakwas had approved the installations.

Maybe they weren't as unusual as she'd thought. Maybe the Alliance had been using similar technology all along. But she couldn't remember signing up for any such program.

Or could she? She could imagine, at least, the array of forms and disclosures and waivers that she would have had to sign; she could almost visualize them, bland bureaucratic language and the Alliance seal at the top.

Shepard shook her head and grimly set back to her exercises.

She couldn't shake the restlessness afterward, though. The cybernetics under her skin seemed to be revving her up, filling her with energy. She was pleased with her progress, at least. The better her therapy went, the sooner she could get out of this hospital, back on her feet and back to full strength.

But why? What did she have to work toward, to get back to? Mother, father, brothers? Maybe. They must have their own lives. She couldn't imagine living at home with any of them now, and if she had friends now, she didn't know who or where they were.

She _had_ friends, she thought rebelliously. The best friends anyone could ask for. Friends who had been there for her in the face of everything, who had stood by her side through the worst things she could imagine.

She had not one clue where any of them was now. Or, even worse, whether they would recognize her if she found them. That thought made her breath come short and her eyes damp; she had to lock it away, focusing on the mindless rhythm of her exercises instead.

She slept badly, in spite of all the exertion. She dreamed that her skin was blackened and burnt, the flesh of her arm seared away and her tendons tightening into a claw; she dreamed of a hole in her abdomen, and the hot slickness of blood spilling from her body. She woke up from dreams like that gasping, and had to scramble out from under her covers and pull up her clothes to look at herself and verify that her skin was pale and whole and healing.

Still, she would look at her face in the mirror, and imagine that there should have been a scar on her cheek, a crescent standing out under her eye. She couldn't shake the feeling that this _other_ Shepard, this John Shepard, carried the scars that should have been hers.

Maybe he'd taken her friends, too. If he had her place — or if she'd somehow imagined herself in his —

No. That, too, didn't bear thinking about.

Her subconscious seized it, though. Now her dreams returned to the forest, or the Citadel, or London, and her ears were full of whispering voices that she wished she couldn't make out. She would find herself running toward the sound of Tali crying, but Shepard couldn't reach her in time. She dreamed of Garrus walking away from her, and woke up unable to remember what they'd argued about.

Usually the dreams slipped away on waking, leaving her only with a clinging dread that she could never quite shake off, no matter how much she tried to empty her mind and focus on anything else. She had no omni-tool to distract herself with, and her mother's conversation wasn't enough.

Mama stopped by daily, sometimes for half an hour, sometimes for a couple of hours. She always brought her knitting. Whatever she was working on grew, day by day, a shapeless mass of green yarn. She talked, determinedly, about her work at the quartermaster's office or whatever scraps of news she'd picked up. She mentioned names that blended together in Shepard's head, until she couldn't recall which ones were Mama's current coworkers and which ones were neighbors from back home.

"You haven't talked much about the war," Mama said one day, head bent over her project.

Shepard flinched. She hadn't been sure what she could say without creating confusion. "You haven't asked," she said defensively, and regretted her tone immediately.

Mama didn't seen to notice. "They said you might not want to."

"They?"

"The doctors." Mama frowned. "Or no. Maybe it was someone else. But everyone says London was bad. Lot of casualties. You might not remember, they said, and that might be for the best."

"Oh." _Who_ , she wanted to ask. Mama often talked about _they_ who'd told her something, and if Shepard asked who _they_ were, Mama would say, "Oh, you know," in a vague sort of way, meaning the brass, or the harried civilian authorities, or what passed for the news media these days, maybe. Shepard wasn't sure.

"I will listen, if you like." Mama made a stiff shrug. "Or I'm sure a psychologist will come by, if you wish." She glanced up again. "Do you remember?"

"Yes," Shepard muttered. She remembered. She and Garrus had joked about walking into hell, but London was the closest she'd come to it. Dark, chilly, and damp, the city had stunk of ash and decay. Hordes of husks, with their screams and their groans and the stampeding of their feet, seemingly endless hordes of them, leaving nothing to do but fire, and fire some more, punctuated by the hiss of a spent heat sink and the surge of biotics. The worst night of her life, bar none. She remembered that the noise of the Reaper ground cannons had been so loud that the ground had shaken and aiming was nearly impossible; she remembered the bitter certainty that this was it, their best and only chance, the dire knowledge that the squads on the ground and the fleets in the sky were there because of her, because she'd pulled every string and called in every favor she could muster, and solved the most protracted of conflicts just to get everyone _there_ , to that nightmare that threatened to go on until every last one of them dropped. At least they would go down fighting, which was better than a lot of the Reapers' victims could say.

And she had done it, had gotten herself through that night with Garrus and Tali at her back. Just like always, like it had been since nearly the beginning of the whole struggle. They had run out of quips in the end, even Garrus. They'd saved their breath for fighting. By then the two of them knew where she was going to be next, and she knew how they'd position themselves, how she could best deflect attention and guard their flanks; they didn't need to speak any more, all differences left aside in the familiarity and chemistry they shared. So there had been nothing left but raw honesty when the two of them were too wounded to go on. She'd called for evac because there was nothing else she could do, not for them, and there had been nothing else to say but what they'd said to each other in the end, in the hellscape the Reapers had made for them.

If that was all a delusion, that priceless camaraderie in the midst of that nightmare —

Her vision hazed, blinded by tears. She tried to blink them away, and drew a breath to settle herself, but it turned into a sob before she knew it, a creaky little sound. She clenched the blanket in her hands, and a few drops fell from her eyes, hot on the back of her hand.

She'd almost forgotten there was another person in the room, until her mother's arms swept around her, thin and firm. Mama was saying, "Shh, shh, you're all right," and murmuring in Russian. For once it was easy to let herself go, to let her head rest against her mother's shoulder and cry while her mother smoothed her hair and soothed her.

Far, far easier to do that than to explain what she'd lost, even if it was only the construction of her own mind, something that had never really existed.


	4. Chapter 3

Shepard woke up with her head full of half-remembered dreams — she'd been somewhere cold, trying to comfort somebody crying, even though they kept turning from her. She couldn't remember who the person was, but the chill of the dream lingered until halfway through her morning physical therapy session.

"Nice work today," said Lara brightly, as Shepard stretched out her aching legs.

"Thanks," she said. "Hey, is there any way I could get an omni-tool?"

"Hm?" Lara looked up from her datapad. "Oh, do you not have yours?"

"No, I guess maybe it was damaged?"

"Maybe." Lara activated her own 'tool. "I'll put in an order."

"Thanks," Shepard said again. She needed intel. She didn't know nearly enough, and she was fed up with having the same questions itching at her brain.

The omni-tool that eventually arrived late in the afternoon was a very basic, slightly battered Bluewire model. Shepard didn't care. It would get the job done. The extranet connection, she was told, wasn't very reliable; too great a demand, considering the number of personnel in-system. She could send messages out of system, but they'd be queued and might not send immediately.

All Shepard really needed at this point, though, was to access Alliance internal records. Especially the personnel database.

Shepard waited until she was alone before she brought up the omni-tool's holographic interface. It flickered at first, but soon steadied. She didn't remember her password — or, more likely, the one associated with her Alliance login wasn't the one she remembered — but she was able to get through the password restoration process and into the system.

Her memories didn't match her circumstances. For now, she could put aside the question of delusion, hallucination, or something fucking with her, and focus on her research. She needed to know: If she wasn't... herself, wasn't _the_ Commander Shepard, then who the hell was she? She searched for her own record: _Shepard, V_.

She found it easily. Valentina Shepard. Daughter of Daniel and Anna Shepard. Born on Earth, 11 April 2154, raised and educated on Mindoir. _Not_ orphaned at the age of sixteen. She'd attended the Systems Alliance Academy starting at eighteen. Graduated in the top quarter of her class.

Val frowned. She remembered graduating in the top tenth, and that was after her scores had slipped in her final year.

But after that, everything looked different. Her first assignment was different. She _hadn't_ been on shore leave on Elysium, as a freshly minted lieutenant. Had the Skyllian Blitz even happened the way she remembered it? She frowned and started a separate search, waiting for a few minutes until she got lucky with the local info systems. A quick cross-referencing made her frown deepen. The colony on Elysium had been decimated. Alliance reprisals had been swift and harsh, and there had been a concerted effort to rebuild the colony, but its population, at the time of the Reaper invasion, had still not been up to pre-Blitz levels.

When Shepard closed her eyes, she could still remember that day. She could even visualize the layout of the colony's main city, the rubble she'd clambered over, even the faces of those she fought beside— but not clearly. The details were hazy and indistinct. Of course, it would have been a decade ago now, so there wasn't anything unusual about her memories being hazy. Was there? She remembered people calling her the Hero of the Blitz. She'd played her part, with the smiles and the interviews and the recruitment vids and posters, the publicity tour of the major colonies and Earth, the medal and the commendation. She'd never really believed in the label, though. It hadn't made sense to her that her presence on Elysium on that crucial day could have made such a difference.

But the bland information on her screen told a different story. No hero of the day, more civilian casualties, even harsher reprisals, as if the battle of Torfan she remembered hadn't been bad enough. It made her feel a little light-headed, almost nauseous. Could one marine have made that much of a difference? Wasn't it downright egotistical of her to think so? Did she want so badly to be a hero that her imagination had made herself into some kind of hero? If so, how could her brain conjure up false memories that vivid?

But on the other hand... how could everything around her be a lie? And wasn't it even more self-important to think that someone would go to this much trouble to trick her, or to feed her some kind of illusion?

She shook her head. Thoughts like that weren't getting her anywhere. Focus on the intel, she told herself, and see where it led.

She resumed scrolling through text on the 'tool. As she flicked from one story to another, reading about the various skirmishes that had taken place after the Blitz, John Shepard's name caught her eye. She stopped and backed up to read the story more closely. What she saw made her breath catch: the truly staggering death toll at Torfan, the majority of his own squad wiped out, along with the enemy. That was the event that had sealed his reputation, the way Elysium had — could have — should have? — formed hers. That was the other Commander Shepard, the famous one: a man who had sacrificed his own people, in great numbers.

Shepard leaned back against her pillows to think. She shouldn't be too quick to judge, without having been there herself. Hell, after Bahak, she didn't have much right to judge anyone, did she? And rooting out an entrenched encampment, one that had had ample time to prepare its defenses, that was a tough prospect.

Still... even so... the facts, as described, made her squirm. She took care of her people, or at least she tried to. Sacrificing your own marines like that...

Frowning, she returned to the personnel files. Now the assignments after 2176 matched up with the reports she'd been reading. She'd participated in several of those mopping-up actions after the Blitz, although not the attack on Torfan. She scanned through the rest of the file's details quickly, feeling increasingly fidgety.

It was... it was a solid career. She'd been tapped for ICT at age 25, three years later than she remembered. She'd never made N7, though, unless the file was corrupt or incomplete, but it looked as though she'd topped out at N5. The whole file was like that. There was just... something _missing_. Some spark. It was excellent — a record any marine could be proud of — and yet — Val's teeth ground together. She couldn't explain why this perfectly honorable and acceptable military record made her so _angry_.

Except that it could have been _more_. She could have done more, been more. Couldn't she? She remembered being more. She wanted to shake herself. Her other self. Her stomach lurched as she imagined a younger version of herself looking back at her, the way her clone had, wide-eyed and baffled and resentful. Valentina Shepard had been good, very good, and yet not quite good _enough_ , not as good as she could have been. What had she been missing? She'd never served with David Anderson in any capacity; had it been the lack of mentoring that had held Valentina Shepard back? Or... Shepard rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache starting to throb behind her eyes. Maybe instead of doing the work toward the career she wanted, she'd manufactured an elaborate delusion in which she had all the glory anyone could have wanted. But no. _No_. If she were making it up, would she have made up her death? Would she have made up the smearing of her reputation, her endless fight to prove the Reapers were real? _Why_? Did she have some kind of persecution complex, to go with a hero complex and a martyr complex? What was _wrong_ with her?

It was easier when her mother was there, when she had somebody else to talk to. Even though things weren't right, at least she _knew_ they weren't right. When she was alone, like now, just sitting in her hospital bed, uncertainty sank thin claws into her mind and heart. Was this real? How could she have invented a person like Samara, or Thane, or Jack? How could she remember, in such vivid detail, precisely the heat and texture of Garrus' skin? How could she not remember her own mother, how could she fabricate such a terrible demise for her entire family? But if those memories were true, then what? Was she surrounded by an elaborate, tedious Cerberus illusion, complete with a fake mother? Was she somehow still unconscious, dreaming a world in which her family lived and she didn't matter? But if her mind had invented all of this, why did she hate it so much?

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. In and out, once, then twice. She counted to ten, reminding herself again that all she needed right now was to gather information.

When she opened her eyes, she glanced down to the bottom of the file, her most recent assignment. When the war broke out, she'd been...

She blinked. She'd been second-in-command of the 1st Special Operations Biotic Company. Second, that was, to Major Kaidan Alenko.

A dry, strange sensation bubbled up in her throat and she couldn't help herself: she laughed until tears streamed from her eyes and her healing abdomen ached. Kaidan could be an able enough commander, she had no doubt of it, but the idea of their positions reversed that way — of him being in charge of _her_ — there was something unimaginably incongruous about _that_. Their relationship had simply never worked that way, even though he was older than she by a couple of years. He was a smart, dedicated officer, but he'd always deferred to her. Even during the war, when he'd outranked her, he'd accepted her command, followed her lead. They hadn't discussed it much. Probably not as much as they should have. When they'd both found themselves on the _Normandy_ , evacuating Earth in the wake of the Reaper invasion, she had taken charge before it even occurred to her that Kaidan was the ranking officer, and he'd let her do it without objecting.

Unless all his talk about Cerberus on Mars had been a way of complaining. Her smile faded as she pressed a hand to her healing side. No, if he'd wanted command, he could have asserted it more directly, and he hadn't. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be his subordinate officer. She'd always respected his abilities, but the two of them had never quite clicked the way she had with Wrex or Tali or Garrus. As her lieutenant, he'd had a way of expressing concerns in particularly circuitous ways that set her teeth on edge.

She looked down and read a little further. She'd had command of the unit when the Reapers attacked, and had retained command throughout the war. They'd served with distinction in the Battle of London. There had been a considerable number of casualties. She sighed, her throat tightening. These were people she should have known. If there were survivors, she should be trying to find them and see how they were. The ones who had died — that meant there were letters that it was her charge to write, about people she didn't remember.

The casing of the omni-tool had a small crack. She picked at it with a fingernail, uneasy. There would be no good way to do that, no real path to writing anything but a terse, official note. The database might have their official records, which would help, but it wouldn't put reality to those memories. She'd written the letters for Williams and Jenkins so carefully, giving due praise to her lost subordinates. It wasn't much comfort to their families, she'd wager, but at least it was something. If she belonged here, if she was really _this_ Shepard, she'd know these people, instead of having elaborate delusions about other people.

_Other people._

Before the thought truly registered, she was entering _Moreau, J_ into the database.

Moreau, Jeffrey. Current rank: flight lieutenant, reinstated [ _data corrupt_ ]. Current assignment: _Normandy_ SR-2, under command of Lieutenant Commander John Shepard.

All the breath went out of her lungs in a rush. Joker was where he was supposed to be. John Shepard had ended up in this hospital, so Mama said. Where was the _Normandy_? Everything in the record, in fact, looked the same, as far as she could recall. The scores, the assignments, the unexplained gap in service between 2184 and 2186. It hadn't been updated since before the war ended.

Almost feverish, she searched on other names: Vega, Traynor, Cortez.

The results were the same. Nothing looked out of order. To be honest with herself, she had to admit that she'd barely looked as Steve and Samantha's records when the war started. They were on her ship, they seemed competent enough, EDI vouched for them, so she had trusted them to rise to the occasion. She hadn't been disappointed. They'd both talked about their background and experience, though. There was Steve's stint flying Tridents; there was Samantha's education at Oxford and long spell in the lab. And Vega... there was the deployment on Fehl Prime, there was his leave afterward, there were the assignments to Vancouver and the _Normandy_. They had the same careers she remembered them having. How could she possibly have hallucinated mundane details about the background of _Normandy_ crew members?

She knew where Kaidan had been, but what about Ashley?

KIA. Same date and place of death, same posthumous honors.

Shepard chewed on her lip, hand wavering over the interface before trying out something different.

_Lawson, M._

_Error: File not found._

She wasn't really surprised. A quick check on Jacob Taylor had, she thought, the right dates for Jacob's service, or close enough.

Nothing on any of the alien crew. She wasn't too surprised about that, either, though it still chafed. She tried to run an extranet search instead, but the connection icon spun idly for a minute before informing her that the extranet was unavailable, and would she like to try again later?

She looked back at the files she'd saved from the _Normandy_ crew. It didn't matter, really, that the Alliance personnel database couldn't tell her anything about her non-Alliance crew. She had the evidence, the files that matched her memories, when they were memories she shouldn't have had. She was the thing that didn't fit.

_She was the thing that didn't fit._

_Why?_ What kind of explanation could there possibly be for what she was experiencing?

Maybe she'd really lost it this time.

She almost put the omni-tool away, before realizing she had another name to try.

_Shepard, John_.

There he was. She pursed her lips at the picture. He didn't look like the ruthless commander who'd lost his unit on Torfan. Born on Earth. Parents unknown. He and she were the same age. He hadn't attended the Academy; he'd enlisted and been pulled into officer training later, after David Anderson took an interest in him. Her lips tightened. Anderson had recommended him for ICT, too. She already knew about his involvement in the Torfan raid. A lot of his record past that point was classified beyond her ability to access. Then, his posting to the _Normandy_ and Spectre appointment, both in 2183. There was, as with Joker, a conspicuous gap, though the record didn't seem to contain any reference to his death.

So she wasn't the only thing different. He was different, too. She couldn't recall ever hearing of a John Shepard serving in the Alliance, but there could have been one. Shepard wasn't that uncommon a name. Somehow they'd... switched places?

Impossible.

_You've made a career of doing the impossible_. Or had she? Maybe he was the one who'd had that career.

Who or what could have done this? Scrambled her head, so that she had memories that weren't hers? Or scrambled reality, so that she had a life that wasn't hers?

Was it the Reapers? Had they somehow — had they tricked her? Had their Catalyst lied to her about the consequences of her actions? Here, they survived. That hadn't been her plan. She'd been prepared to die, as long as she took them with her. Had they somehow engineered an outcome that assured their own survival? Or... was it Cerberus? Was she even here at all? Could she be in some kind of elaborate simulation, another one of the Illusive Man's manipulative games?

Her breath was coming fast and hard. She could feel her pulse pounding. Her right hand was knotted around the blankets. She forced her fingers to relax, one by one, and deliberately breathed in and out, nice and slow, until her heart rate calmed down. She wanted a gun. Or her amp. Either would do. She wanted to hit something. The Illusive Man, maybe. Hit him again and again until his pale skin cracked to show the corruption beneath.

It was unlikely, though, that whoever or whatever had put her here would do her the courtesy of marching into her hospital room, alone and unarmed, so she could beat it into submission.

She lifted her hand. Without her amp, it took a monumental effort of will to make a faint blue aura crackle around her hand. Her back and shoulders ached with the effort, and she could feel sweat starting on her neck. She let the flare die.

"Val? Everything all right?"

It was Mama in the door, with a smile on her face and her bag of knitting in her arms. So innocuous. So impossible.

For a wild moment, Shepard contemplated the possibility that this... this facsimile of her mother was set to keep an eye on her. She ought to be at least sixty; could Shepard overpower her, even weakened and recovering, as she was?

Even the thought made her feel guilty, summoning up memories of her mother's sternest stare. But she remembered, too, the woman's reactions over the last few days, which _seemed_ entirely genuine. How she'd offered comfort. How she hadn't asked too many questions. Was Shepard just as much a puzzle for her to deal with as she was for Shepard?

No, whatever was going on, Shepard would be better served by biding her time. She should wait until she was stronger, until she had her amp back. Wait and watch and gather information and see if she could put the pieces together. If what was around her was some kind of illusion or simulation, there should be a crack in it eventually. She just needed to keep her eyes open.

This kind of waiting didn't come easily to her, but she'd done it before, when she'd been surrounded by a Cerberus crew. She could do it again.

"Yeah," she said. "Everything's fine."


	5. Chapter 4

When she'd made enough progress in her recovery, Shepard was told she could leave her room if she liked for a little additional exercise, and take her meals in the cafeteria instead of in her room. She suspected she was saving someone a bit of work, not that it mattered. The opportunity to be out of her room, to look at something other than her four dingy walls and be around other people, was too good to pass up.

The food was still mostly packaged rations, but they were starting to get actual cooked food into the mix. It wasn't exactly flavorful, but it was something.

Nearly everyone in the cafeteria wore scrubs; it was a little hard to tell the patients from the staff, except for those people who were visibly bandaged or moving stiffly, like Shepard herself. Shepard took a seat at a long table with a quartet of people at one end, sitting with bent shoulders and carrying on an intense conversation that she couldn't quite hear.

She set to work eating her reconstituted eggs and bland oatmeal and tried to relax. As much as the novelty of being out and about was refreshing, something about the atmosphere in the room had her on edge.

Maybe she was just paranoid.

"I just don't like having those things out there!" said one of her tablemates, a woman with dark curly hair. Her voice rose as she said it, and she pushed away from the table a little.

"Well, as far as anyone can tell, they're fixing the mass relays, so," said the red-haired guy opposite her.

"They're hanging around the mass relays. We don't know _what_ they're doing to them," the woman countered.

The Reapers. They were talking about the Reapers. Shepard stabbed her fork into her eggs and froze, ears straining to hear more. Mama had said the Reapers were out there fixing things.

"I heard a turian patrol fired on one," said the third person, a petite Asian woman who reminded Shepard a little of Kasumi.

"What happened?" asked the redhead.

She shrugged. "It didn't retaliate, but the missiles didn't do anything. Just absorbed by shields, I guess."

"Did it communicate anything?" asked the fourth person, a tall thin black man. "I heard the asari have been hailing them, but they never get an answer."

Shepard swallowed as the four fell into a brief, anxious silence.

"I just wish we knew what was going on," the first woman complained, shaking her head. "All the relays blow in that freaky blue light, and then nothing. I'm telling you, it's creeping me out."

"We heard you," said the red-haired man with a sigh.

"I get it," said the Asian woman. "I'd be lying if I said I was calm about everything. But I think it's best if we focus on our patients."

The black man nodded. "Let the brass and the science wonks try to sort things out."

Shepard lifted her fork to her mouth and ate without tasting the food. She wondered, with a grim sense of humor, what conversations were going on in what was left of high command, behind closed doors. It was something of a relief not to be privy to it, not to have Hackett or one of the councilors calling her up and demand she _fix it, somehow, don't tell us how, just make it better, Shepard_.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, not being _the_ Commander Shepard.

"If they _can_ sort it out," the first woman muttered. "They're the ones who built that thing in the first place, the, what do you call it..."

"The Crucible," said the black man.

"Some secret project," said the redhead. "Half the galaxy must have worked on it at some point."

"Yeah, are we sure it did what it was supposed to?" said the first woman.

The four of them fell into an uneasy silence until the Asian woman said, "Shift starts in five."

They promptly began gathering up their dishes and trays, and left in a clatter of footsteps and utensils, leaving Shepard sitting alone. She finished her lunch mechanically, one bite after another while her mind wandered. She kept thinking of the Reapers, silent and invulnerable, working away at the relays as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn't already killed millions. Billions, no doubt, once all the numbers were added up.

She dutifully took her tray to the washing station and made her way toward her afternoon therapy appointment. The medical staff who walked quickly past her had, to a person, dark rings under their eyes and tight shoulders. Here and there she caught snatches of low-voiced conversation. Much of it was full of medical jargon she barely understood, probably people discussing their cases, but occasionally she heard someone mutter something about Reapers or relays, and often the other person in the conversation would flinch or glance away. People were tense; her sense of prickling unease wasn't coming from nowhere.

Her eyes met those of a man who'd just been fretting about whether the mass relays would function again. Shepard started to smile, reflexively offering a bit of reassurance, the way she was used to during her errands on the Citadel. His gaze slid right past her, though, and he hurried on his way as if she wasn't there.

The sense of invisibility stopped her in her tracks. She was used to having people's attention, whether she liked it or not.

Lara was still working with another patient when Shepard arrived; she called out, "I'll be right with you, Commander Schafer," without looking up.

"Shepard," she called back.

Lara laughed. "Whoops, sorry, my mistake. Just give us a couple minutes to finish up here."

Shepard sat in one of the stiff chairs and tried to remember the last time someone had mistaken her name. Usually people recognized her. Usually people looked at her with something other than bland, incurious faces. But now, she didn't fit, didn't matter.

Even when she was captaining a Cerberus vessel and commanding a Cerberus crew, she hadn't felt so out of place. Then, at least, she'd known who she was, and so had her crew. No matter what had happened to her, she'd awakened on that lab table feeling like herself. She'd largely shunted the matter of her death and resurrection aside, avoided thinking about it. She _could_ have been a clone or a clever VI or some sort of body double — but it wasn't until late in the war, when she'd encountered her actual clone, that she'd been seriously shaken on that score. She'd relied on her _memory_ , for one thing; she'd spent time thinking about minute details from her childhood that there was no one else alive left to recall. She'd relied on the people around her, on Joker and Dr. Chakwas and Garrus, who'd treated her as if they had no doubts. Even the Cerberus crew had regarded her with respect, even awe, hardly expressing any doubts about her. Most of all, she'd relied on her self, on the bone-deep sense of who she was that hadn't changed, even if the bones themselves had been rebuilt. She'd known who she was down in the center of her psyche.

That sense of self, those memories: those were exactly the things that didn't match her surroundings now. With oblivious strangers around her, regarding her with only mild smiles or harried expressions, her certainty wavered. She felt unbalanced, aimless, and she hated it.

It made her a little ashamed herself. Hadn't she always said she was just an ordinary marine? Nothing special, only someone who'd made the most of her opportunities? Not someone anyone _needed_ to pay attention to? Now nobody looked at her with awe or terror, now she got precisely the amount of attention a busy nurse or therapist could spare for their scheduled patient and no more, and it grated on her nerves. She fidgeted in her chair. Part of her wanted to stomp her feet and fuss like a toddler until someone _looked_ at her.

So apparently she craved attention. She'd learned something new about herself, and she didn't much like it.

Maybe she _was_ delusional, her memories of adulation and challenge nothing more than a broken mind's attempts to comfort itself.

To keep herself from exploring that line of thought any further, she went through her exercises in grim, silent determination, pushing herself until Lara clicked her tongue and told her not to overdo it.

Lara was probably right. Shepard's legs and back and shoulders ached by the time she got back to her room, and it was actually a relief to throw herself back into her bed and stare at the ceiling, resenting how weak her body felt. She dozed, waking up again when her mother came in, bright and cheerful and chattering about supplies and logistics and two people at the office who were apparently starting a romance, even though one of them had a spouse who still wasn't accounted for, and —

"You don't need to come visit every day, Mama," Shepard said abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Mama's knitting needles stopped clicking and she stared at Shepard. "What, I shouldn't visit my only daughter in the hospital? I shouldn't see how you are?"

"I'm fine. There's not much for me to tell. I'm just doing my therapy every day." Their visits were way too one-sided. There wasn't enough in Val's daily routine to talk about, and once she'd finished, she was mostly listening to her mother go on about her work for an hour, or sometimes more. She couldn't very well tell her mother about the last few years.

"So, what, I shouldn't even ask?" Mama's voice rose, and her accent thickened.

Val sighed. "Just... not every day? It's not like there's much different. You just don't need to hover so much."

"Well." Mama sat up straight and started stuffing the mass of green yarn back into her bag. "I'm sorry my concern _bothers_ you so much." She stood quickly, slinging the bag over her shoulder, and marched toward the door. "You know, some people would be grateful they had their mother with them while they recovered."

"It's not that," Val protested, but Mama was out the door and gone.

Val sank back into her pillows with a groan and rubbed both hands over her face. Stupid. She'd been unsettled all day because no one paid enough attention to her, and she couldn't cope with her own mother's attention. God, she really was an ungrateful brat. Here she was with her family intact, with the chance to know the mother she'd lost in her teens and make amends for the time they'd lost, and the best she could do was complain about it and drive her away?

Back when she was fifteen, sixteen, she and her mother had fought all the time, about what Val wore and how she did in school and she couldn't even remember what else. Apparently she hadn't gotten out of the habit.

She'd thought, in more paranoid moments, that her mother — or whatever impostor was pretending to be her mother — might be spying on her. But this couldn't be a simulation designed to confuse her, could it? The hospital was too realistic, too ordinary, full of tired, overburdened staff with too many patients and not enough supplies. Nobody paid enough attention to her movements and reactions. It didn't add up.

She flopped back into the bed and stared at the ceiling, half-hoping her mother would come back, but she didn't.

Shepard slept restlessly that night. Once she dreamed of Mama scolding her, and woke with a start, and when she fell asleep again, she dreamed again: this time she was sitting beside Anderson, gazing out at the field of stars, where Reapers sailed gently by.

"Beautiful," said Anderson. "So peaceful."

"But this wasn't what I meant," she protested. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

When she woke up, she couldn't remember how Anderson had replied, but she remembered the sight of those vast, squid-like shapes floating dark against the stars.

If she could leave her room for meals, there was no need to stay in it the rest of the time, she decided. Lara had told her she could walk more if she felt up to it, to exercise her legs and build up her endurance. Still, she stepped out of her room in her faded, too-big hospital pajamas with a guilty thrill, as if Dr. Chakwas would show up any moment to herd her back to her bed. Her unexpected anonymity was an advantage here. As long as she didn't trespass into staff-only spaces, no one gave her a second glance. Hell, barely anyone gave her a first glance. She was all too clearly what she was: a patient testing out her legs, making her slow way through the corridors. Nothing unusual, nothing worth paying attention to.

Since she had the opportunity, she tried to map out the facility. At least, it gave her something to think about other than constantly picking at the questions _Am I sane? Are they actually out to get me?_ Hospitals were—

_Hospitals aren't fun to fight through_.

—complicated buildings at the best of times. The Alliance had taken over an existing hospital on Terra Nova, but various rooms had been repurposed to fit in more patients, and there were hasty prefab additions blocking the view from most of the windows. Rooms that had once held two patients held three, and so on. Shepard's room was private only because it was so small. It was in the original hospital building, and she wondered what purpose it had formerly served. Somebody's office, or maybe even a broom closet. Nothing but the best for the other Commander Shepard, she thought, and her lips stretched into a humorless smile.

She trailed her fingers along the wall as she went, to help keep her balance and stay out of the main traffic lane, and marked the space in her head. So many wings, so many corridors, so many rooms. What had once been a central atrium, open space and greenery, was now jammed full of medics' stations and monitoring equipment, and off-limits to patients. She cast curious looks over her shoulder as she moved away.

All of it looked very ordinary, still. A really detailed simulation, or a really detailed hallucination.

On the third day, Shepard turned a corner while exploring a wing she hadn't been to before, and drew up short. Her feet dragged on the floor, and she pressed her hand hard against the wall to steady herself. There was a pair of guards posted on either side of the first door, armed and wearing Alliance uniforms. It was a plain, ordinary door, no different from any of the others, as far as she could tell.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Is this a restricted area?"

"No, ma'am," said the private on the left, a young Asian woman. "Guarding the room, that's all."

The woman and her partner appeared alert, but relatively relaxed. Shepard nodded and continued down the hallway. She didn't like turning her back on them, even so. The space between her shoulder blades itched. She stole glances back over her shoulder, but neither one reached for a weapon. She walked slowly to the end of the corridor, counting off the six rooms on each side, turned, and made her way back, considering. She had seen marines around the hospital before, on occasion, but not guarding what appeared to be a private room.

She put on a smile as she approached them again, trying her best to look relaxed and trustworthy, and asked, "So I'm curious. Who rates a personal guard around here?"

It was the dark-haired man on the right who spoke, this time. "Shepard."

Her smile froze. For a moment, she thought he was speaking to her, and she wondered, with an edge of panic, if she was supposed to recognize him. Then she blinked and realized what he was actually saying. It didn't take any effort to look shocked. "Whoa. You mean _that_ Shepard?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She thought she heard an edge of pride in his voice when he said, "Yeah."

"Huh," she said, her mind racing. "Wow. I'd heard he was at this hospital, but I didn't realize... No visitors, huh?"

The woman stiffened a little, lifting her chin. "No, ma'am."

"He's not in any shape for it, from what I hear," said the man.

"Really." Val leaned one shoulder against the wall opposite them, trying to look casual, and drummed her fingers against the wall. "You ever see him?"

The man shook his head. "Nah, we just take over from the other shift. Round the clock guard, just in case."

_In case of what?_ She wondered, but she nodded as if she understood. "I heard he was hurt pretty bad. Think he'll recover?"

The woman frowned. The man shrugged and glanced at the closed door. "Not from what I hear."

"Ric," the woman admonished.

He shrugged again. "What? Guy's in a coma, hooked up to respirators. Burned to a crisp. If they pulled the plug, he'd die in a matter of hours."

His partner scowled harder and crossed her arms. "You should be more respectful."

He spread his hands. "I'm not saying the man's not a hero, I'm just saying he's not gonna live."

"Burned," Val said, her heart pounding. "That's a rough one."

"We're not really supposed to talk about it," said the woman, still frowning. "And we're not privy to the medical details, anyway."

"Right," she said, starting down the hall away from the room. Easy, easy; slow and normal. She kept her breath and her steps even. "Sorry to bother you."

She remembered burning. She remembered the feel of blood, slick on what was left of her armor, her undersuit, sticky in her hair. She thought she remembered her broken ribs grating together. If the details were fuzzy, was it because she'd invented them, or because she'd been dazed by pain and painkillers?

But John Shepard had burned.

After that, she made a point of walking by the room every so often. Not every day, and not always at the same time. No reason for anyone to get suspicious. The marines she'd encountered were the usual daytime guards; if she went by in the evening, a different pair were on duty. Usually she passed with no more than a nod. Sometimes she exchanged pleasantries about the weather, innocuous small talk. Once, as she passed, the door was open, and she caught a glimpse of the body within, dark and swathed in bandages, with two medics busily at work on either side of the bed. She slowed to a stop that time. One of the medics saw her looking. She couldn't see the woman's face properly behind the surgical mask she wore, but her dark eyebrows drew together. She stepped around the bed and shut the door firmly.

Shepard couldn't even explain to herself why she kept going by. It wasn't as if John Shepard could answer her questions, even if she did get into the room, and she wasn't fit enough to take on two guards, even though her legs were strengthening by the day. She wondered what she'd find, if she could see his medical records. Burns. Coma. Gunshot wounds? Where? But those records were highly encrypted datafiles, and she'd never been a hacker. She wasn't a doctor, either. Even if she had Tali or Kasumi at her side to get her into the records, whatever she found might not tell her much. If only he were conscious, even intermittently, it might be worth the risk anyway. She had questions she'd like to ask him.

Her mind wandered to him even when Mama came back to her room and plopped down with her knitting as if they'd never argued. There he lay, John Shepard, the Butcher of Torfan, Savior of the Citadel. The man who'd ended the war, or so the speculation ran. What had he thought about that? Had he talked to a dead boy on the Citadel? What had he chosen? What had left him scorched and shattered and comatose in a hospital bed?

Maybe, if she could talk to John Shepard, what she ought to do was thank him. He'd carried the burdens of command, he'd made the hard choices, he'd paid the price. It galled her, but maybe that was her own weakness. Maybe it was pure hubris, the deepest, rawest kind of arrogance, to think that she was the person who _should_ have been in that position, that no one else could choose rightly. And why did she want that weight, anyway? Why not enjoy her recovery, her anonymity, the fact that she had her _family_?

Because she only had one of her families, she tole herself. She still had those personnel files saved to her omni-tool. She looked at them from time to time, when she couldn't sleep. They at least gave her some hope that there was _something_ to the other life she remembered other than delusion. Joker and Kaidan and James were real, the _Normandy_ was real. That much, she knew, even though she didn't have anything else to go on. The problem of what had happened to her had no obvious avenues to explore, no loose ends she could tug at to see what unraveled. Except for John Shepard himself, maybe, but he wasn't a loose end capable of telling her anything.

If there was nothing she could _do_ about it, maybe she should resign herself to the existence she had. She thought about that, sometimes, when she was most tired, dragging herself to her room with aching legs after circling the hospital for an hour. There were worse things than what she had right now, worse things than having her mother chattering on by her bedside. She'd be healed, soon, and she had her career, too, in a galaxy that needed...

That brought her up short. She was good at fighting and killing things, and she wasn't sure the galaxy needed that at all. Especially not if the Reapers were no longer a threat.

She'd never been good at resigning herself, though. And no matter what John Shepard might have done to them, she couldn't bring herself to see the Reapers as benign. Maybe they were just waiting for another day. Maybe they were the ones who'd screwed with her head.

Her thoughts chased each other round and round like circling vultures, day by day. They wheeled around as she stretched her legs and worked through her exercises and wandered the hospital and listened to her mother's chatter. They never landed, and she never arrived anywhere new.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this week. Next chapter should be longer... but also probably not next week, since I'm traveling for work. The next chapter should post within two weeks, though.  
> Thanks for reading!

Val knew that visiting John Shepard's room every day was just scratching away at a scab. She hardly even needed to think about it any more. Even as she thought about how her legs were getting stronger, and how her mother was worried over Ivan, whose recovery was slower (and far away), her feet found their way toward the appropriate corridor. She had just turned the last corner when she heard a commotion behind her: a flurry of footsteps, some light, some heavy, and a cacophony of raised voices, several people talking over each other. Shepard tensed, flattening her hand against the wall; she found her mind rapidly running over the layout and options (no weapons ready to hand, people behind her, corridor ahead, John Shepard's room not far ahead on her right). She shook her head, irritated with herself; there was no likely threat here. As she turned toward the noise, keeping her back to the wall, an irritated, higher-pitched voice pierced through of the din.

"I don't _care_ what his condition is, you can't keep me from seeing him!"

The voice was so familiar that Val's breath caught. Her chest tightened, and her stomach lurched with a sudden queasiness. Her head snapped around so fast her neck ached. "Liara?" she murmured under her breath.

Time seemed to slow, as it sometimes did in combat. A knot of people swarmed down the hall toward her: medics in scrubs and white coats, people in Alliance uniform, the bulkier forms of people in armor. Out of the knot, brushing off a white-coated man who was attempting to speak to her, strode Liara T'soni, her lips pressed in a tight line. Liara stood out, almost too vivid and sharp; the people around her blurred in Shepard's eyes. Liara's white coat looked like the lightly armored one Val remembered her favoring throughout the war, but it was streaked with dirt and scorch marks. Liara's left arm, bandaged, hung in a sling. Her face was drawn, her cheekbones more prominent than Shepard remembered, and some recent wound had left an angry violet streak across her forehead. Liara ignored the medics and strode past Val without seeming to see her. With a wave of her right hand, the door to John Shepard's room flew open and crashed into the wall. Val flinched.

The two guards at the door reached for their weapons — a little slowly, but Val couldn't really blame them for being caught off guard. Liara's fingers curled, a mere flicker of movement, and both of them sailed away, landing in a heap at the end of the corridor, under a drooping potted plant. Liara didn't even glance in their direction. She halted on the threshold, her hand going briefly to her lips as she stared into the room. Her blue eyes widened, glistening with tears. "Oh," she said softly. " _Shepard_." Then she stepped in, oblivious to the crowd in the corridor behind, or the two guards groaning at the end of the hall. The door slammed shut after her.

"He's in no condition for visitors," the man in white protested to the air. He must be the highest-ranking doctor on hand. Val, remembering to breathe, didn't envy him.

"I don't recommend trying to remove her. Unless you'd like your hospital to have large holes in it."

The second voice made Val spin around again, tearing her eyes from the closed door. Liara's furious momentum had caught all her attention before, but now the armored figures that she'd vaguely registered as traveling in Liara's wake resolved themselves into deeply familiar figures.

"Garrus," she whispered, transfixed.

"She can't just stay in there indefinitely," the doctor said. He ran a hand over his balding head and scowled in the direction of the door.

Garrus shrugged, his heavy armor creaking. "Give her some time. She'll probably calm down."

"If you're lucky," James Vega muttered. Garrus glanced in his direction and flicked a mandible at him.

_Garrus_. Garrus was here. She couldn't help but stare, drinking in the sight of him. He was here. He was alive. She hadn't been sure. He could have been anywhere, doing anything. She could have made him up altogether. What information she'd been able to get her hands on hadn't even told her for certain whether he'd ever been part of John Shepard's crew. But he looked well enough. Like she'd remembered, or imagined. Sound and healthy. Even the pattern of scars on the right side of his face looked the same, she thought. She ought to know; she'd traced them enough times with her fingertips. The set of his mandibles and the slightly discolored skin around his eyes suggested he was weary, but he didn't appear injured. He moved down the corridor with a familiar, confident stride, arms loose at his sides. Weapons in easy reach, but not especially tense or alert. His armor appeared intact, if scuffed and singed. It was a sharp contrast to what her memory told her was the last time she'd seen him. Then, he'd been limping and battered, with Tali gamely supporting his weight in spite of her slighter build, his armor sparking in a way that promised worse damage beneath the surface. She'd touched his face, for what she knew — thought — feared — might be the last time, and then she'd turned and run. She'd seen him reach for her as she turned, but she'd ignored his outstretched hand. She didn't dare linger; it might get them all killed, and there was no _point_ in having broken protocol and called for an evac if she didn't get to the damned beam and end the damned war.

But he looked fine, here and now, whole and solid and real. Involuntarily, her hand rose from her side, and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to him. She closed her fingers into a fist and dropped it back to her side.

The movement drew his attention nonetheless. Garrus tilted his head toward her, blue eyes focusing on her with a familiar sharp, inquisitive look. "Do I know you?"

She felt, abruptly, nauseous and light-headed. She took a step backward. Her shoulder blade bumped against the wall behind her. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. "I doubt it." Her voice sounded thin and hoarse, even inside her own head.

Down the hall, the two guards had scrambled to their feet and started back down the hallway. "Easy there," James called out to them, raising a hand. "Relax."

"The asari —" began one of them.

James shook his head. "She ain't gonna hurt him."

Ignoring the exchange, Garrus kept his attention on Val. He turned his head slightly. Focusing his visor on her, she realized. The idea made her keenly conscious of her elevated pulse and trembling knees. Garrus said, "Didn't you say my name a moment ago?"

"I just... recognized you. By reputation." It was a weak lie. Mama was right; she was a bad liar. There was no conviction in her voice. His gaze sharpened, crystal blue eyes intent, and she wondered, with a brief surge of panic, what his visor was telling him about her biometrics. Heart rate, up. Body temperature, low. She dug her fingers into her ribs to keep them from shaking.

James chortled and elbowed Garrus in the side. "What have I been telling you, Scars? Most recognizable turian in the galaxy. All those vids, man, everyone knows you and Shepard were buddies."

His mandibles drew in. "All that Arena fighting was a waste of time."

"Tell that to Shepard," James said. "C'mon, you gotta enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame while it lasts."

Garrus shook his head, returning his attention to Val. "So we haven't met?"

_Not in this life_. In this life, she was no one to Garrus Vakarian. "I don't think so," she said, hugging herself more tightly. "I'm just here recovering. Val Shepard. Systems Alliance, Lieutenant Commander. Uh, no relation."

"Oh, right," said James. "You're that other Shepard. I heard about you."

She glared at him. He added hastily, "Ma'am."

James looked fine, too, she saw on a quick once-over. As tall and broad as ever, seeming to fill up most of the width of the corridor. No visible injuries, though he was wearing bulky black armor with plenty of scuffs and scorch marks. Behind him, the medics had drawn into a muttering cluster, conferring with each other and occasionally glancing balefully at the closed door.

"Other Shepard?" asked Garrus.

"Heard what?" she asked.

"Same name, same rank as our Shepard. Some kinda biotic whiz, I guess. Pretty _loco_ , no? This one's definitely the prettier Shepard, though." James gave her a grin, one of his flirtatious ones.

This again? And while she was wearing bland, scratchy scrubs that didn't fit right, yet. She supposed it must be a reflex with James, flirting with everyone who crossed his path. Her stomach twisted. Her mouth tightened while she searched for another subject. "So... I see the _Normandy_ crew is back, then." She glanced down the hallway for other familiar faces. There was a corporal lingering awkwardly behind Garrus and James whose face seemed familiar, but none of the ground team or other senior crew. She didn't see Dr. Chakwas consulting with the hospital staff, who were starting to disperse.

James's smile dropped. "Yeah. What's left of us."

Val straightened. "What?" The word came out sharply, in _commander_ voice, completely unintentionally. The mistake made her twitch.

James's shoulders squared, and his expression turned serious. "Had a rough landing. Lost our pilot, lost some crew..."

"Your pilot," she said slowly, stupidly, her heart pounding. _Joker_. No. Not stubborn, mouthy, loyal Joker.

"Yeah." James shook his head. "Damned shame."

"Might not have landed at all without him," Garrus said, looking down. "We could have lost more."

"Yeah, but hotshot Moreau wouldn't leave it to the A — uh, autopilot. Too much damage to the cockpit. Doc couldn't save him." James shook his head.

"That's... terrible," she said faintly. She knew that cockpit so well; it was too easy to imagine the scene. "And... other crew, you said?"

"Yeah." She was hoping that James would elaborate, but he merely looked grim and rubbed the back of his neck.

"We've all lost too many people in this damned war," Garrus cut in. He was looking at his omni-tool with a tight expression. "Excuse me... Commander, was it? Vega. I need to report to turian command." He started to turn back the way they'd come.

"Want me to stay here for the Doc?" James asked.

Garrus shrugged. "Your call. Aren't you supposed to report to your commanders? Liara can probably find her own way around. Send me a ping if you need me." With a brief nod to Val, he strode back down the corridor. The medical staff had mostly departed while they were talking, although a pair of medics were still halfway down the corridor, having a conversation that involved much gesticulating. The two guards, still looking ruffled and frustrated, had resumed their former positions on either side of John Shepard's door.

James sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "So, what brings you here, Commander?" He gave Val a speculative look.

He wasn't quite flirting. Still, her return glance was wary. The thought of having to go through the teasing and the _Lolas_ all over again just made her tired, especially when she was still feeling shaky, and a little queasy. She shrugged in response. "Got evac'ed after the Hammer ground assault, been here ever since. I'm just stretching my legs. Should be fit for duty again before long."

"I'll say."

Val gritted her teeth. She was not in the mood for this now. Before, Vega's bravado had completely fallen apart once she'd called him on it. But then, she'd been _the_ Commander Shepard... and involved with someone else. Neither of those things was true now, and suddenly she couldn't get away fast enough. She pushed herself off the wall and walked away down the hall, faster than her usual pace around the hospital. To avoid being too rude, she called back over her shoulder, "See you around, Lieutenant."

"You can just call me James," he called after her.

Her throat tightened. She kept walking, determined not to look back. Or ahead, to see if she could spot a turian in blue armor somewhere in the distance. She turned one corner blindly, and then another. Once she had enough space between her and the scene at John Shepard's door that her back at stopped itching, she halted to settle her breathing. Resting one hand flat against the wall to support herself, Val closed her eyes. Joker, dead. Joker, who'd been there since the start. Before the start. Joker, with his chip on his shoulder and his cocky pride that would have been a hell of a lot more annoying if he hadn't had the skills to back it up. Joker, who'd literally pulled her ass out of the fire on Therum, as he insisted on reminding her constantly. Joker, with the unfailing loyalty and the guilt that he always skirted around. Joker, one of the first friendly faces she'd seen after Cerberus dragged her back. She could hardly imagine the _Normandy_ without Joker at the controls. She could hardly imagine a ground mission without his sarcasm in her ear.

What about EDI? How would she cope with losing her pilot, her closest human connection? How did an AI grieve?

And other crew, lost. Which other crew? Ship's crew? The team that had risen to an occasion they'd never expected, kept _Normandy_ running throughout the war, by dint of long hours and dogged determination. Not — God, surely not Dr. Chakwas. Or did James mean the ground crew? Liara and Garrus and James were alive; what about the rest? Which of the people she'd fought and struggled beside and laughed with were gone?

Her eyelids prickled, hot and itchy. She took a deep breath to keep back the tears.

_Everybody say Normandy!_

She remembered that party, though it was blurred by a bit of drink and several months' elapsed time. Her people, her friends and crew, teasing and amiably bickering, filling up Anderson's sleek, cavernous apartment with life and energy. She'd known then — they'd all known — that they might not all survive the coming battles. They'd been prepared to face that. But to know that some of them — any of them — were gone because of command decisions that weren't hers — that was something else again. A stinging pressure was building up behind her eyes and in the back of her throat, and she wasn't sure whether it tasted like grief or rage.

And Garrus didn't know her. Of course he didn't. Why should he? She shouldn't have expected anything else, should she? He'd been at _that_ Commander Shepard's side, it seemed. Buddies, James said. Lieutenant Commander Val Shepard was no one to him, no one and nothing. They'd been friends, comrades-in-arms, lovers, partners. He was her most trusted confidant, her best tactician. They'd worked together like right and left hands for years... but not here. Not now. Here, he was someone else's right hand. She hoped John Shepard had goddamned well appreciated him.

That life had been _real_. It _felt_ real. She remembered moments of their life together with crystal clarity: the poise and swagger he'd had back in Dr. Michel's clinic, the second time she'd ever seen him; the shock of recognition that had rocked her to the core when she'd seen him take off his helmet on Omega. She remembered the sickening terror she'd suppressed when he fell, and the metallic stench of turian blood. She remembered his grip on her wrist as they fled the Collector base, hard and unyielding, and the certainty that he would not let her fall. She remembered the taste of his skin and the feel of his mouth, and the blurred warmth of countless nights spent sharing a bed. She knew his body, his voice, his expressions as intimately as she knew anyone's.

And Garrus was real. He was here. He didn't know her, but he was real. She hadn't simply invented him.

She knew things. She knew that Samantha Traynor was allergic to curry, that Liara T'soni could plink out a melody on the piano, that Kaidan Alenko had a surprisingly bad poker face, that James Vega learned how to make eggs from his abuela. She knew that Joker cared more about everyone than he'd ever admit out loud. How could she have such vivid memories of people she'd never met? She couldn't have made it all up. She _couldn't_ have manufactured such a delusion for herself. No. Somehow, somewhere, something had taken all of them from her, for what purpose she couldn't guess. Given her her family, in some kind of grotesque trade.

Maybe she was still on the Citadel, trapped in some delusion or hallucination as her body failed. Maybe something was toying with her out of sheer capricious malice. Maybe this was some kind of hell, some punishment for the lives she'd taken.

So what if it was hell, though. She'd fought her way through hell before. She would find a way to deal with this, and whatever it was, she was damned well not going to cry about it. She pressed her hands against her eyes and swallowed, hard. She almost choked on the lump in her throat, and it burned like acid all the way down.


	7. Chapter 6

It was one thing to resolve that she'd find her way out of this. It was another thing to figure out how.

The hospital stayed the same as ever: humdrum routine for Shepard in the midst of a harried, uneasy staff. But Shepard felt haunted now by the knowledge that her crew was here. Some of them, anyway. Liara and James and Garrus, and whoever else from the _Normandy_ had survived. It felt like a fresh wound, always pulling at her attention, the way her physical wounds had before they healed, leaving shiny new skin in their wake.

Shepard couldn't exactly roam through the hospital looking for her crew, though. And to her frustration, the Alliance personnel database, didn't seem to update properly. Even if Val somehow found them, there wouldn't be anything to say, would there? She supposed she could thank them for their service, since John Shepard wasn't in a position to do so. Had he, she wondered? Had he known and appreciated what he'd had? Did he care about his people as much as she did?

She couldn't ask any of them. She didn't see any of the crew in her circuits of the hospital, either. Not even Liara, when she passed by John Shepard's room, though if Val knew Liara, Liara wouldn't have left her lover.

Even the thought of Liara being John Shepard's lover made Val feel a dark, formless kind of jealousy, even if there was nothing romantic between her and Liara any more. Val's own memory told her that she and Liara had ended things over a year ago. Still. Liara belonged to those memories, not at John Shepard's side.

Val went in her for next physical evaluation and drummed her fingers restlessly against her thigh while her mind wandered, wondering if Garrus took John to the top of the Presidium, too, and if James still had his N7 tattoo.

"I think you're ready to be released."

Startled out of her reverie, Shepard blinked at Dr. Menendez, a thin, short woman with weary eyes and streaks of gray in her dark hair. "Really?" The anticipation of being free and out of this building made her heart beat faster, but... here, at least, she was close to John Shepard's room. Val bit the inside of her cheek, torn between excitement and reluctance.

"Yes. Your physical progress is impressive." Menendez pursed her lips. "You're not cleared for active duty yet, and you'll need another evaluation in ten days or so. You can continue physical therapy on an outpatient basis. Frankly, I hate to say it, but we need the space."

"Ah." Shepard sent her a lopsided smile. "I'm not sick enough."

Menendez sighed. "No. We're still getting missing ships checking in, and some of them have seriously injured patients to transfer to us."

"It's all right. I get it." Shepard rubbed the back of her neck, wincing when her fingers brushed across her empty amp port. "Where do I go from here, then?"

"You'll have assigned quarters." Menendez handed Shepard a chit. "Not luxurious, I'm afraid, but you're authorized a space in the Alliance barracks. It's... relatively private, at least, and of course you'll be issued clothing and other necessaries to go with it. There's a mess hall on site."

Shepard accepted the chit. "Thanks."

"And you've been cleared for this." Menendez reached into her desk drawer and removed a small black case, of a familiar shape and size. Shepard had to restrain herself from snatching the amp case right out of the doctor's hand. She settled for holding one hand out imperiously, leaning forward in her seat. Menendez half-smiled as she dropped it into Shepard's waiting palm. "Eager?"

Shepard's mouth twitched, but she didn't answer, concentrating on breaking the seal and popping the case open. It was nothing fancy, just a standard-issue Alliance amp in sterile packaging. Val swept her hair aside from the port with one hand, and plugged the amp into the socket with the other, in one smooth motion. The amp slid into place with barely a _snick_ , perfectly seated.

There weren't any words for the sensation of having her biotics come online. It was a new sense shivering to life — like suddenly pulling off a blindfold, or like losing your hearing to an explosion and having it come back all at once instead of gradually. Shepard's awareness of her own power twanged like a plucked string, crackling along her spine from skull to tailbone. She sighed, her lips spreading into a smile. "You have no idea."

"Your neurological scans have all come back clean," Menendez said. Shepard bit her lip, wondering if anything on the scans would answer the question of whether she was crazy. "You're cleared to begin biotics practice again. Please proceed carefully; it's just like exercising a muscle you haven't used for a while. It'll be easy to overdo it."

"I'll be careful," she said solemnly. Inside, Val could have danced out of sheer joy. She'd hardly even been thinking of her amp as a missing piece, but with it back, she felt more whole than she had in weeks.

Being released took longer than Shepard would have guessed. There was a lot of waiting while tired-looking staff processed forms on battered consoles and made her sign things, and then a corporal handed over a box and informed her that once she'd changed, a nearby private would escort her to her barracks.

The box contained a set of Alliance fatigues that mostly fit (the sleeves were a little short, and the uniform hung slightly loose on her), a set of pajamas, a couple changes of underwear, and a case containing basic toiletries. It was a step up from hospital pajamas, at least. Shepard had her omni-tool with its precious data, and it wasn't as if she had any other personal possessions.

She must have had, though, mustn't she? Where had they been? Maybe she'd lost them back when Earth was attacked, or... where had she even lived, when the war broke out? Was there any real point in speculating? Val shook her head, rubbing her forehead, and went out to meet the private.

Outside the hospital, they took an old-fashioned groundcar, not a skycar, to the Alliance encampment. The private pointed out landmarks along the way, but his voice faded into a drone. Shepard was far too enthralled by the novelty of being outdoors for the first time since she'd awakened. The air was fresh and damp, and open skies stretched overhead. It didn't even matter that the skies were gray and overcast. It was still _sky_ , not dingy, pitted ceiling.

As far as Shepard could see, Terra Nova looked to have been lightly hit. The buildings near the hospital showed signs of weapons fire, but were still standing. They drove out of the city proper, along a road that soon turned muddy and bumpy. The ground car jolted along for a couple of miles, hard enough to snap Shepard's teeth together, and then the camp spread out before them, a maze of familiar gray prefabs among narrow dirt paths. Shepard grinned, without much humor. Typical Alliance. Practical, functional, ugly as hell. On the next rise, a mile or so away, she could see another camp, laid out with exacting precision. "Turian camp over there," the private said, waving his arm, "our HQ is over that way, officers' quarters to your right, enlisted quarters past that."

Shepard nodded and climbed out of the car, slinging the bag with her meager possessions over her shoulder.

She checked in at HQ first. There, an exhausted-looking second lieutenant appeared bewildered by the sight of her, then checked her chit, exchanged it for a handful of ration chits and the mess hall schedule, and pointed her toward the correct barracks. "You'll be called if you're wanted," the lieutenant said in a clipped accent that reminded Shepard of Traynor. "You'll be assigned to light duty within a day or two."

Good enough. Val supposed the Alliance was already well supplied with convalescent marines these days.

Her barracks consisted of ten tiny chambers, each big enough for a bed, a locker, and a desk that folded down from the wall. Not much more. All the quarters shared a common bath. Val checked her omni-tool, but the signal here was no better than in the hospital. The locker was empty. Shepard dropped her case of toiletries in and changed the code. She stood, hands on her hips, and looked around. Four gray walls, all hers, but nothing in particular to do. She hadn't any duties for the moment, and wasn't in a hurry to volunteer for desk duty, even if it was clearly needed. She could hear snores coming from a couple of bunks down, but there seemed to be no one awake on the premises except herself.

So she went for a walk.

On her own two feet, it wasn't hard to get the lay of the camp. She meandered through, noting the location of the mess hall, infirmary, and other useful services, trying to stay out of the way of anyone who looked busy or laden with baggage. Some of them noticed her rank and swerved to avoid her, casting a hurried nod in her direction, if not a real salute. No one, as far as she could tell, actually recognized her. That was something of a relief, even as the weight of her anonymity chafed.

Before she knew it, her feet took her to the outskirts of the camp. There was a gate and a guard, a young private who did no more than check her ID before waving her on. The camp lay on a ridge, on the outer edge of one of Terra Nova's larger towns, overlooking the plains that provided the colony with the bulk of its food. It was a good view, as long as you didn't mind farmland. Open fields had always reminded Shepard of Mindoir. For years, the sight of them had torn at her heart, at the same time giving her a raw kind of comfort. The sight of rolling hills, the smell of earth and grain, these were familiar, and settled something in her mind even when she remembered the raid. Mama said Mindoir was thriving when the Reapers invaded. What did it look like now, after another sixteen years of growth and development?

Chances were, Val could find out, if she wanted to. Go home, and see the rest of the family, and her childhood home. Take some leave, maybe, and try to forget about the crew that wasn't hers.

Shepard shook her head and kept walking. She was on—not even a road, really, merely a path that wound its way along the ridge. It was a cool day, with a tang in the air that made her think of autumn, assuming this part of Terra Nova had the kind of temperate climate she'd grown up with. The residual stiffness in her legs worked itself out quickly; it was good to stretch them out on something other than a treadmill, and before long she broke out into a run. The ground was flat, and Shepard fell into a rhythm more easily than she would have expected, legs and arms and heart and lungs all working together in synchrony. This rhythm, this working body, this they couldn't take away from her, no matter what the rest of her life had become. She kept running, even though her internal sense of how far she'd come was beginning to warn her that she ought to turn back soon, if she didn't want to push things too far. Soon, she told herself. She'd turn back soon. She could walk if she had to, drag herself if need be; it was worth it for the joy of being alone and in the open and in a body that worked the way it was supposed to. The cloudy skies stretching for miles in every direction made her feel smaller, more aware of her size and place in the world. So what if no one knew who she was, if someone else claimed her accomplishments. The sky and grass went on, the planets and stars spun on regardless. Whatever problems had loomed large in the confines of the hospital dwindled in the face of all that open space.

She reached the top of a rise, keeping a comfortable pace, and saw someone in front of her, perched on a rock. Turian, by the silhouette. If she remembered correctly, she'd been running in the direction of the turian camp. Someone else out for a stroll, maybe, or searching for some privacy.

As she got closer, she recognized him.

Her breath caught, disrupting her rhythm, and her stride faltered. She slowed down. She shouldn't, she told herself. She was a stranger to him. She should go right on by. Or she could stop. This was as good a place as any to turn back, back to the gray Alliance camp and her four gray walls and the life of Lieutenant Commander Shepard, 1st Special Operations Biotic Company. Either way, she should let him get on with his life.

She couldn't do it. Her feet kept slowing of their own accord, and finally she stopped. She took a moment to catch her breath before clearing her throat. "Nice day." Shepard suppressed a wince as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She couldn't have thought of anything more banal to say?

Garrus looked up at her, blinking. "Yes? Oh. Commander Shepard, wasn't it?" His mandibles flicked out in a wry expression. "Strange coincidence."

Val crossed her arms over her chest, shivering in the breeze now that she wasn't moving. "People usually just call me Shepard."

"Hm," he said, noncommittal. "It's hard to think of someone else that way."

She managed a brittle smile. "I suppose it must be."

"Is it a very common name?" he asked after a moment.

She eased into a stretch, using it as an excuse to turn her face away. Easier to pretend they were just acquaintances, in spite of the pounding of her heart. "It's not that rare, I suppose. I don't think I knew a lot of other Shepards before, uh. Before John went and got famous, though. Outside my family, I mean."

"It must be odd for both of you to be here, then."

He was using the sort of polite, neutral tone that unfamiliar Alliance staff got. Appropriate, she supposed, but it made her feel colder than the wind did. "Yeah. The hospital staff were polite, but I know they were thinking of me as the other Shepard." She lifted her head and stared off toward the horizon. She should just go, really.

"Ah," he said. "Yes. I see."

Her eyes darted sideways toward him. "Oh?"

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. His mandibles tilted out in amusement. "When I was a rookie at C-Sec, my father was a veteran. I spent a while being the other Vakarian. Drove me to distraction."

She smiled in spite of herself. It was easy to imagine a younger Garrus chafing against his father's long shadow. "I can imagine."

"I usually call the Commander 'Shepard,' though. I mean, you're a commander, too, but... ah, you know what I mean." He shook his head, looking down. The familiar gesture caught at her heart so painfully that Val had to look away.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "Val. My first name is Val." Almost no one called her by her first name; she was always Shepard, or Commander. The hospital staff had mostly called her by rank. She felt as though she were giving something up.

"Val Shepard. That's different."

Garrus — her Garrus — called her by her first name, but not often. Usually only when they were alone. Hearing her name in his voice, but without its usual warmth and affection, sent a shiver down her spine and left her feeling chilled. Val swallowed, easing down onto the corner of the rock. She stretched her legs in front of her and cast about for another topic. "What's he like?" she blurted out.

"Shepard? I mean, John Shepard?" Garrus was quiet for so long that Val glanced toward him, and found him looking down, reflective. He shook his head. "He's hard to describe. He's... a hard man, in general. He's had to be, I guess, to do the things that he's done. The things that needed doing."

Val pressed her lips together. Would Garrus, or anyone, have described her the same way? She hoped not. She'd tried to accomplish her missions without unnecessary loss of life. Without losing _herself_. "That sounds... difficult to work with."

"Sometimes." Garrus shrugged. "We got along. Get along," he amended.

She stole another glance at him, but if he was disturbed by John Shepard's current state, he didn't show it. His mandibles were still. She couldn't tell much about his posture in his armor, but he seemed relaxed enough.

"I used to work with Kaidan Alenko," she ventured. "Wasn't he on the _Normandy_?"

Garrus's mandibles twitched. "Yeah. Yeah, he was. Once. He was very... principled." The way he said it, it didn't sound entirely like praise.

"Was?" she asked.

Garrus gave her a sharp look. "You hadn't heard?"

Val shook her head, hoping she wasn't making a mistake. The cold feeling spread through her stomach.

"Maybe it wasn't widely publicized. Remember when Cerberus tried to seize the Citadel and assassinate the Council?"

"Yes," she said, almost surprised to find something the same.

"Well, Alenko ended up on the wrong side of Shepard's gun. He was trying to guard Councilor Udina, not realizing that he was the traitor behind the coup."

Val's hands curled into fists. "Oh. I see." In her mind's eye, she saw Kaidan facing her down, gun in hand, the confused Councilors behind him. One wrong word, a little less trust, and things could so easily have gone awry. One more life lost. Kaidan was a good man, no matter if they'd had their differences.

"Too many of us are gone from that mission," Garrus said. He sounded weary now, his subharmonics discordant, maybe shaded with grief or regret.

Val crossed her arms. It didn't seem to make her any warmer. "Really."

"Leaving out Shepard, I mean, because he's not... well. There's me, and Liara. Wrex. A few of the Alliance crew." Garrus shook his head. "Starting to seem like a long time ago."

"That's all?" she said. Her voice shook. Garrus gave her a curious look, and she winced, hunching her shoulders. She tried to steady herself. "I mean, I remember the vids. You had quite the crew. Wasn't there a quarian?"

Garrus looked down. "Tali... didn't make it." He was trying to keep a good grip on himself now, but she was used to looking for shades of emotion on him. To her, his sorrow was audible, almost tangible. She had to fight the urge to reach out to him.

Her throat felt thick. Tali, too. What had... what could have happened to Tali? "I take it she was a friend?"

"Yeah. We went through a lot together. But she..." His mandibles flexed, slowly, and he shook his head. "It's a long story."

Tali. Joker. Kaidan. All of them, gone. How many more, she wondered. How many of her people were lost? She wanted to ask, but it would be cruel, wouldn't it? "I'm sorry," she said through stiff lips. She had an irrational urge to go burst into John Shepard's hospital room and demand to know what he'd done, why he'd taken such poor care of her people.

Garrus sighed. "We've all lost people."

"That's true." She swallowed down the lump of grief she couldn't give voice to. "What about your—do you have family?"

"A sister," he said, his tone shading into something she couldn't read. "She's recovering, but she sent a message. My father... didn't make it off Palaven."

"Oh," she said, suppressing the urge to reach out and offer some kind of comfort. She'd deliberately sat as far away from him as possible, to curb any impulse to take his hand, or bump his shoulder with her own, or put her arm around him, armor and all... She shook her head.

"What about you?" he asked.

Val expelled a breath. "I'm... lucky. My parents are alive, and my three brothers."

Garrus nodded. When he spoke again, he'd returned to that polite, noncommittal tone. "That's a good-sized family."

"Yeah." Val forced a chuckle. "Dad and Mama wanted a big family, so they went out to the colonies. I was born on Earth, but they had Alex and Misha and Ivan out there."

Garrus turned his head toward her sharply. "Alex? You have a brother called Alex? Is he a tech? Cybersystems and genetics?"

Val blinked. "Um, I... yeah?" She was guessing, since she didn't really know what Alex had been doing, but it fit the child she remembered. "Why do you ask?"

"Huh." Garrus rubbed the back of his neck. "There was an Alex Shepard on the SR-2 crew during... ah, before. Always said he wasn't related to the Commander. John, I mean."

"We're not, as far as I know," she said slowly. "Before what?"

His shoulders shifted. "Before the war."

"You mean, on the Collector mission?" she asked.

Garrus gave her a measuring look, suddenly sharp, and she froze. "I assume you heard about that through Alliance intel?" His voice was sharper, too, with a slight undertone that felt like a threat.

Hell. She'd stepped in it now. She'd forgotten that the fight against the Collectors might not be public knowledge. She moistened her lips and put on a smile. "Yeah." With any luck, he wouldn't be in a position to check up on her lie.

Garrus relaxed minutely, though his eyes were still locked on her. "Yeah. Alex was on our science team then."

"Freelance, or...?" Val asked.

"No, he was part of the Cerberus crew."

"Part of the Cerberus crew," she echoed, trying to fit her head around that. "You're telling me my little brother is with Cerberus?" _Goddammit._ If she had the little shit in front of her right now, she probably would have punched him. For his own damned good. _Cerberus_? _She'd_ teamed with Cerberus out of a lack of options, and that was _all_ , no matter what anyone said. She hadn't volunteered, she'd been conscripted. What the hell had Alex been thinking?

"Was, I think," Garrus corrected her mildly.

She laughed, a harsh noise that scraped her throat. "Well, that makes it so much better." How many ethically dubious projects had Alex been involved in? Her own _brother_.

"As far as I know, he left Cerberus before they started going all-out with the indoctrination," Garrus ventured.

"Good for him," she said, teeth bared. "I'm still going to kick his ass. What was he thinking, getting involved with those bastards?"

Garrus's mandibles twitched.

Shepard caught the movement, and her eyes narrowed. "What?"

He shook his head. "You reminded me of someone, that's all."

"Who?" Her eyes narrowed. "Your Shepard?"

He chuckled. "No. I was thinking of my sister, actually."

That was oddly deflating. "Oh."

"Don't take it the wrong way. She's not someone to mess with."

"Thanks, I think." She tucked her hands under her thighs, pressing her palms against the gritty stone surface. She reminded him of his sister. Fantastic. "Do you have any idea where I can reach him?"

"Hm." He tilted his head, thoughtful. "The crew broke up after that mission, and I haven't talked to him since. I know someone you could ask, though. We assisted a group of Cerberus defectors during the war — I didn't see all of them, so he might have been there, or they might at least know how to contact him."

It didn't take more than a moment to transfer the data to her omni-tool. Contact info for Jacob Taylor. She should have guessed. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Something moved in the distance, and they both looked up. Gradually, the dark bulk of a Reaper appeared over the horizon, its vast, narrow legs picking their way across the empty landscape. Two more, smaller, followed it. Val couldn't suppress a shudder as she watched the inhuman shapes methodically pacing along.

"I wonder where they're going," Garrus said. There was a burr in his subharmonics, telltale sign of tension. Shepard felt as though she was vibrating along with him.

"I don't know. I guess they're repairing infrastructure? I hate it," she added quietly.

"It's unsettling," he agreed.

"We spent all that time fighting them, and now we're supposed to accept their help? As if none of that ever happened? As if they didn't nearly destroy us?" She shook her head. "I can't stand it."

"I agree," Garrus said, his subvocals sounding tight. "Not even a clue what they're really about."

"I don't understand why he chose this," she burst out, quietly.

There was a moment of silence before Garrus spoke. "What?"

Val glanced at him and swallowed, suddenly keenly conscious of what she'd said, of the sharp gaze boring into her, and of the blue screen of his visor measuring... something. "What?" she repeated, trying to buy herself time. The back of her neck felt cold.

"Who? What choice?"

She turned her gaze back toward the Reaper, dark and ponderous, afraid Garrus' piercing glance would see right through her. "I only meant, I don't understand why anyone would choose this. If there were alternatives."

"Hm," he said.

Val wanted to steal a look at him, but didn't quite dare. She thought he was still looking at her, picking up who knew what from her biometrics. Just like Mama said, she'd never been a good liar. She'd especially never been good at lying to him. With any luck, he'd write off her agitation as discomfort with the presence of the Reapers. "Sorry," she said. "It's just... they bother me."

"I can certainly understand that." His voice dropped into its lower registers. There were a lot of things she'd normally read into that tone. None of them were probably true right now.

Val stood abruptly and turned to go, needing to move, needing to get away from the towering black shapes and the scrutiny that felt anything but loving. She heard Garrus shift his weight behind her, and he spoke before she got more than a few steps away. "You know, there's a little place to get drinks not far away, if you want."

Val stopped in place and blinked back the heavy feeling around her eyes. She could still see the Reapers in her peripheral vision, and it left a shiver of unease creeping down her spine. She thought of her four bare gray walls, and even Garrus's measuring gaze seemed more welcome. "Sure. Why not."


	8. Chapter 7

Shepard and Garrus ran into Vega as soon as they got to the bar. Shepard wasn't even surprised to find the big lieutenant leaning on a stool. She _was_ surprised to see him light up with a broad grin and wave at them both. "Hey, Scars! Blondie! Glad you could make it!"

As soon as she heard the nickname, her face contorted into something that was probably a snarl. " _Blondie_?"

"Sure, 'cause..." James waved a hand vaguely in the direction of her hair.

"He likes nicknames," Garrus supplied. "Can't be bothered to remember people's real names."

Val rolled her eyes. Her face felt permanently crimped into a scowl. "But you have to be able to do better than _Blondie_."

"What? Don't it suit you?" James grinned at her.

She'd never understood his original nickname for her, but now she felt oddly desolate. She was supposed to be _Lola_ , damn it, and she couldn't very well demand that he call her that. She settled for a blunt: "No. It doesn't."

"I'd have to agree." Garrus signaled the woman behind the bar, who passed him a bottle. Evidently the two men were regulars here. Val ordered a beer while the two of them kept wrangling.

"What do you know about it?" James demanded. "You're hearing everything we say through a translator."

Garrus shrugged, cracking open his bottle. "You really think I've worked with humans for years and not picked up anything of your language? What you said was obviously a diminutive, and she's not."

Val blinked at that. She wouldn't have thought he had that strong an impression of her. When glanced at him sidelong, though, he returned a flaring grin. She couldn't help but smile back.

James snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Marilyn."

Her smile dropped and she rolled her eyes. "Now you're just picking famous dead blonde women. No."

"I'll figure somethin' out." He tapped his head. "I always figure them out."

"What, you think 'Scars' is so brilliant?" She accepted her drink from the bartender.

Leading the way to a booth at the back, Garrus snorted. James looked injured. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

"I don't mind, Jimmy," Garrus drawled, glancing over his shoulder.

"What do you call Shepard?" Val asked, curious. She couldn't imagine James applying a feminine nickname to John Shepard.

The two men looked at each other. "Loco," James said, looking a little sheepish.

She laughed.

It was an odd evening. Almost comfortable, and yet not quite. The place was, to tell the truth, a dive: some sort of shed or warehouse originally, maybe, that had been repurposed when someone dragged in an assortment of mismatched chairs and tables, including one tall enough and long enough to serve as a bar. Shepard didn't want to know where the proprietors got the weird variety of liquor they provided. The woman behind the bar, with a tight face and bright red lipstick, served drinks competently, but didn't invite much conversation.

Garrus had picked the booth. Shepard noticed that he'd chosen a seat where he could see the whole room, and had an especially good view of the door. He leaned back in the booth, one ankle crossed over his knee, all relaxed swagger, but he drank slowly, and his eyes didn't seem to miss much as they traveled around the room. James leaned on the table, shoulders hunched, roaring with laughter. He was putting away a lot more, but Shepard knew the lieutenant had a substantial capacity.

She took a moment, while the men were bantering with each other, to send a message to the address Garrus had given her.

_To: Jacob Taylor_

_I'm Lt. Cmdr. Val Shepard, with the Alliance, currently on Terra Nova. I'm looking for my brother, Alex. Garrus Vakarian told me you might know where to find him. Let me know if you can; I'd like to make sure he's safe._

Shepard sent it off while James was laughing about some joke she hadn't caught. Communications were jammed up enough that there was no telling when it would go out, but she'd sent it to the queue. Hopefully she'd hear within a few days. She powered down the omni-tool and put her attention back to the conversation.

The rhythm of talk between James and Garrus was easy to fall into. Familiar, like a sport: jokes and sarcasm and anecdotes batted back and forth between them with an ease and comfort that Shepard couldn't help but find inviting.

Except that the stories they told might start in familiar places, only to veer off in directions she didn't expect.

"So we were checking out this mine," Garrus would say, "and it turned out that it was full to the brim with husks."

"Naturally," James said with a chuckle.

Shepard remembered that mine. It had been some of the ugliest close-quarters fighting she'd seen in a career full of ugly close-quarters fighting. They'd gone down and down and down into the mine, the air close and dank; she'd started snapping husks' necks with her hands to conserve thermal clips. She tried to remember who'd been with her and Garrus. Jack, Shepard thought. The younger woman had gone to pure biotics and had been drenched in sweat, a snarl on her face, by the time they reached the bottom of the mine to set their charges.

Garrus's version of the story was different, an adventure involving Zaeed and an explosive that John Shepard had rigged out of a defective tactical cloak. Val laughed appreciatively, while trying not to squirm in her seat. Her own contributions to the story-swapping had to come from earlier parts of her career, and she could only hope they didn't overlap too closely with anything John Shepard had ever said.

"You must have seen some action in Hammer, though, right?" James said as the evening wound down.

Val stiffened. Memories of that dark night, the stench of a city full of dead, and the screams of the husks and banshees, flickered through her mind. Everything she remembered about that night had Garrus at her side. Her eyes shot across the table to him. He lounged in his seat, regarding her with interest, and she had to control herself carefully so she didn't flinch. She couldn't leave him out while talking about that night. She didn't know how. She looked at her empty bottle instead. "Yeah, I'm not so sure that's a story I'm ready to tell."

"Mm. I hear that." James drained what was left of his glass.

"I think we've all been there," Garrus said, in a slow, meditative way.

"I should go," Shepard said abruptly. The air felt too warm, suddenly. Stifling, too many voices chattering at other tables. James snorted as she pushed her chair back, and Garrus blinked up at her.

"Do all humans do that?" he asked.

Shepard's cheeks grew warm. "Sorry. Long day."

Garrus nodded, and she turned to go with only the briefest return nod.

"See you around, Goldilocks," James called after her.

"Again with the hair," she grumbled. "Come up with something better, Lieutenant."

He laughed behind her as she made her way to the door.

Outside, it was just growing dark. The cool air felt like a balm against her face, warmed from the afternoon's jog and a few hours spent in the bar. Shepard stretched out her legs and took the walk back at an amble. The bar was outside the Alliance camp, but not even a kilometer away, an easy enough walk. Probably just enough distance to let the Alliance turn a blind eye. Shepard hadn't even drunk enough to be buzzed, really. Her biotic metabolism always burned through alcohol quickly. She passed a couple of people headed the opposite direction, and wondered how rowdy the place got later at night. The gate guard gave her ID a cursory glance before waving her on her way, and she exchanged nods with a couple of people without recognizing anyone. Still, no one seemed to recognize her, either.

In her gray room, Shepard changed into her one set of coarse, bland pajamas and went to sleep. She woke from muddled dreams about London and found her omni-tool's message indicator blinking.

None of the messages were from Jacob. There was a terse one asking her to report to a Major Coats at Alliance command, a schedule for outpatient physical therapy from the medical team, and three from her mother.

_The hospital says you got discharged. Give me a call._

_I stopped by your quarters but you're not there. Where are you?_

_Don't disappear on me. Call me._

She scrubbed at her eyes and hastily tapped out a message. No way she wanted to call this early, with her mother possibly already in a tizzy.

_Sorry, Mama — didn't get your messages until this morning. Tool must be a little unreliable. I'm fine, all checked out, getting squared away with Alliance command today._

The water turned cold two minutes into her four-minute shower.

Shepard learned quickly that the camp worked on routine, and she was a piece of grit in the gears. She showed up at the mess hall only to be informed that her card cleared her to eat breakfast between 0700 and 0800 hours, not after 0800; on learning she was newly released from the hospital, she was grudgingly allowed to eat breakfast off-schedule, and had to prove she was a biotic to get authorized for the full biotic's ration. She ignored the guarded or exasperated looks she got from the people in line behind her and dutifully ate her reconstituted eggs and toast at a corner of one of the long tables without speaking to anyone.

Lacking anything better to do, she checked in at HQ, where a harried attache stared at her blankly for several seconds before her face lit up. "Oh, Lieutenant Commander Shepard! I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm just glad to be out of the hospital," Shepard said with a smile.

"I can imagine," the aide said. "Listen, the Major doesn't need to see you yet, since you're not cleared for combat, but I do have the biotics schedule for you."

"Come again?" Val asked.

"Oh, no. Didn't anyone tell you?" The attache blinked at her. "You're supposed to be supervising the biotics facility."

Val stared. "I am?"

The aide sighed and rubbed her eyes. She had impressive dark circles under her eyes. "Yeah. Someone has to supervise training sessions and keep track of equipment, do evaluations, make sure no one's experiencing side effects from combat or other medical issues, and you're the most senior biotic we have on site."

"I am," Val repeated numbly.

The aide looked at her as though she were a little slow. "Of course. Weren't you with the Biotics Company? You've got qualifications nobody else does. I mean, I suppose they have biotics over at the turian camp, but... someone really should have gone over this with you. Let me just see if I can find the records..."

"I'll wait."

The aide nodded and bent over her console, muttering to herself, probably about other people's incompetence. Shepard stepped back and took a couple of deep breaths. Right. She'd been Kaidan's second-in-command in the 1st Special Operations Biotics Company. There weren't that many biotics older than she was, especially not without significant impairments from the old L2 implants. Of course they thought she was the most experienced human biotic available.

She'd never done that kind of training, though. Her own training had been patchy and mostly improvised, and more to the point, was all years ago. As a biotic in regular combat, Shepard had learned by doing. She knew a lot of practical tricks, but very little theory. She'd also never been good at the kind of finesse and control that people like Kaidan or Miranda had. Throw things across the room? Fine. Throw _herself_ across the room? Sure. Those things she could do. Keep up a barrier or a singularity? Nope. She'd always been shit at those. Half of what she'd learned, she'd gotten from asari or Wrex. How the hell was she supposed to train a bunch of assorted Alliance humans?

"Here." Shepard's attention snapped back to the aide, who held out a datapad. "Here's the local complement of biotics and their records. We have a mix of ranks and experience, but all their data should be in there."

"What kinds of implants do they have?" Shepard asked warily, taking the datapad.

The aide shrugged. "It's all in the file. There's a schedule for the facility, too, and the keycode. It's kept locked when not in use. You can authorize private practice at your discretion, but please don't abuse the privilege."

"Okay," Shepard said, eyebrows rising.

The aide nodded and bent back to her work. Shepard hesitated for a moment, and then decided that she'd been dismissed.

At least she had something to do now. She left HQ clutching her datapad. She took a hasty glance at the schedule. There weren't any actual classes scheduled until the next day. Maybe they'd been postponing them until they had a supervisor they considered qualified? That much was a relief, at least. It gave her some time to go over the records she'd just been handed and make some kind of plan.

The biotics training facility was nothing more than a single-room prefab set up near the rest of the exercise facilities. Shepard really didn't see the need for a separate lock. It was one large room, so at least there was some space to maneuver, with one mirrored wall and an assortment of battered props, most of them made of heavy foam that wouldn't do much damage if they got out of control.

Shepard extended her arm and swept the props to the side of the room with a twist of her fist. They tumbled in eddies of dark energy. Force, not finesse: Shepard's calling card. Her lips pulled back in a taut smile. It felt good, like flexing a muscle too long unused. She spent five minutes just knocking around the props, bouncing them from one corner of the room to the next. Fast and hard, mostly, though she tried levitating and holding a few just for variety. It didn't take long for sweat to break out on her forehead and the back of her neck as she strained to keep them in the air.

Blowing out a breath, Shepard let them fall. She had no idea how Kaidan made that look so easy. Or Miranda. Miranda made everything look easy. Miranda pulled off singularities without a hair or speck of makeup out of place. But there were a few things Shepard could do that Miranda couldn't. Sighing, Shepard rolled her shoulders, shook out her arms, and planted herself at one corner of the room. Time for the moment of truth.

She didn't have a mnemonic for this, ordinarily. Charging came to her like a reflex. This time, she visualized the channel carrying her across the room toward the pile of foam props in the opposite corner, closed her eyes, and clenched her fist—

—and _went_.

Here, and then there. The wash of energy shot her across the room in an eyeblink, raising the fine hairs on her arms and setting her nerves alight. Shepard stumbled on the landing, jarred by the sudden dislocation, but even a bad landing didn't stop euphoria from washing through her nervous system. _Yes_. She'd done it, she still _had_ it. Her old instincts worked like they were supposed to, and even her barrier was shimmering around her, hazing her vision with blue. In one smooth movement, Shepard gathered that leftover power into her fist and raised her arm, poised to explode.

No. She couldn't safely set off a nova in here, not with the mirror lining one wall.

Instead, Shepard had to let the dark energy dissipate, letting it run crackling out of her hand. Her arm tingled when it was gone, and dust still swirled around her.

Refusing to let that caution bring her down, Shepard charged a few more times just to prove to herself that it wasn't a fluke. She ended by throwing her head back in the middle of the room and laughing. This. Something that worked the way it was supposed to. The rest — well, the rest she could figure out later.

She locked up the facility as she went out, only to find Mama coming down the lane toward her. For a short woman, she looked like nothing so much as an oncoming storm, and barked out, "Where have you been?"

"Out," Val replied, as if she were a teenager again, and flinched at her mother's expression. "Sorry, Mama, I was just getting settled in, and this is my new assignment, so..."

"I know. I just talked to that girl in the office, since you didn't call," Mama said, folding her arms. "Are you too busy to have lunch with your mother?"

"Of course not," Val said, simultaneously annoyed and guilty. She was ravenous, actually; a couple of hours of biotics practice would do that. And at least she had something to talk about over lunch: she told Mama she'd gone for a run the evening before, and how she was supposed to be supervising and training the other biotics. "It's, um, it's been a while since I did that stuff," she added.

"Huh," Mama said.

Val looked at her curiously, hoping she'd go on. Mama shrugged. "Well, you've never been very patient, have you?"

Val bit her lip, hearing her insecurities mirrored. She shrugged in her turn. "I'll just have to do the best I can."

"Of course you will," Mama said. "Your father would be so proud, you know."

"Yeah?" Val looked up from her tray.

"Of course. He was so thrilled when you got your commission, but you know how he was. Always thinking ahead. He would have been so proud to see you teaching."

Val's smile froze. "Was? I thought you said Dad was fine?" Hadn't Mama said? Coordinating relief, or something?

Her mother stared at her. Apprehension shivered down Shepard's spine. She'd said something wrong. Maybe this was the crack that would take everything down, but why now? What would happen next? Her heart pounded, and she felt keenly aware of the number of people surrounding them, eating rations as if nothing had happened.

"Maybe you should see the medics," Mama said, frowning. "You know your father died five years ago. That transport accident?"

"Oh." Val realized she had a death grip on her fork and unlocked her fingers. "I'm so sorry, Mama. I don't know what I was thinking."

Mama sniffed and returned to eating.

Shepard swallowed and did the same. No one appeared to tap her on the shoulder. No one did anything out of the ordinary at all. Maybe she'd misremembered. Maybe everything was muddled, worse than she'd thought.

After that, she practically fled back to the biotics facility for some blessed privacy and spent the afternoon going over the biotics' files. It was something she could sink her mind into, and she might as well be prepared for the training sessions that would come.

The camp's routine was so scheduled and regimented, it was easy to get sucked into it. Meals, her own workouts, the training sessions she was supposed to lead, lights out, they all fell into place like pieces of a puzzle. The biotics Shepard was supposed to supervise included a couple of veteran L2s and L3s in her own age range, but most of them were younger, some of them recruits still in their teens. For the first few classes, Shepard filled the time by putting them through their paces, finding out what each of them could do; then she set them into pairs and trios to work with each other, teaming the vets with the greener ones. It wasn't so different, in the end, from managing a ship's crew or a combat team. They didn't need her to demonstrate everything, to her relief; she could always call upon one of the more experienced biotics for a demo.

On most days, Val ate lunch or dinner with Mama, who reminded her twice more to tell the medics about her memory lapse, before apparently putting it aside. Some of Shepard's biotics trainees started joining her for meals, too, when they were on the same schedule. Some of them were even there when Mama presented her with her finished knitting project, a lumpy green sweater that hung loose on her frame. It looked ridiculous, Val thought, but she couldn't very well refuse it. Besides, the barracks got chilly at night, and the misshapen thing was surprisingly warm. Val found herself running her fingers over the rough wool when she had trouble sleeping.

She kept up her workouts religiously, and took to long runs over the countryside. Sometimes, in the evenings, her runs took her back to the ramshackle bar. She usually found Vega there, and sometimes joined him for drinks, rejecting his latest weak attempt to give her a nickname. Garrus wasn't at the bar as often, but he'd join her and Vega when he came in. It was comfortable, orderly, filling up her time with routine, filling her mind and heart with responsibilities. All of it lulled her into almost overlooking the uncomfortable moments — when she absent-mindedly bumped her shoulder against Garrus's, laughing, and he looked at her with polite puzzlement, or when she saw Reapers striding vast and oblivious across the landscape while she was running.

Val dreamed, on those nights, that she rested her head on Garrus' lap while he combed his fingers through her hair, or that her crew called to her, or that she stood shaking with a gun in her hand while a child talked to her in a voice like Harbinger's. She woke from those dreams with a jolt, her mouth dry and her eyes stinging, furious with herself for coming so close to forgetting that something was wrong, that she and her memories didn't fit.

Yet in the morning, the routine started all over again, keeping her too occupied to think much about how any of this was possible.

After ten days of this routine, Shepard had her medical check-up. Not with Dr. Menendez, but with a busy medic whose name she didn't catch, who hooked her up to machines and took some readings and scribbled on his pad while muttering to himself. Afterward, Shepard stared at the datapad form he'd pushed into her hand.

 _Cleared for active duty_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be able to post next week due to travel, but you can expect an update the Thursday after, if not this next week!


	9. Chapter 8

"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant Commander," Major Coats said.

"Likewise," Val replied with a nod. She remembered Coats from London. She could only hope he didn't have any further acquaintance with her than that, so that her neutral response would seem appropriate.

Coats looked older and wearier than Val remembered: the close-cropped hair was a little gray around the edges, his face paler and more drawn. Was it the strain of the last few months taking its toll? She couldn't be sure. She'd gotten a message to report to his office only about an hour after her medical clearance. That was fast by Alliance standards. Val hadn't recognized Coats' aide this time, but she hadn't even sat down before the aide ushered her in. Coats must really want to see her.

"I'm glad you're cleared for duty," he said. "We need some good marines."

Val's lips twitched into a smile. "There have to be a few around here somewhere."

Coats grunted. "There are. Not a lot with your qualifications, though. There were a lot of casualties from Hammer, and a lot of the survivors are still on Earth."

She nodded again, torn between trepidation and excitement. Half of her had been convinced that he wanted her for more training or something — something she wasn't actually experienced in, no matter what her file said. The other half hoped desperately for a combat mission. If it didn't look ridiculous, she would have crossed her fingers for luck. If he actually had a combat mission for her, she might have to give him a hug.

"And at the moment we have a situation," Coats said.

Shepard blinked, and found herself settling, even as her ears came to attention. A _situation_ sounded promising. She knew how to handle _situations_ , a lot more than she knew how to do dinners with her mother and biotics training sessions. They were practically her specialty. "What's the situation? And what do you need me to do, sir?"

"We've had reports of a group of geth on-planet. The geth themselves haven't communicated with us, at all. Our sensors picked up their ship, but they've ignored all hails. We need someone to find out what they're up to."

She considered this. "What's our... diplomatic status with the geth?"

Coats spread his hands. "Uncertain. Shepard — excuse me, the other Shepard — brought them into our coalition. A lot of us had our concerns about that, but it worked out. They helped a lot with the building of the Crucible, sent in ships and troops for the assault on Earth. Ever since then, they've been quiet. Pulled back from Earth space, pulled back almost everywhere, no communications to speak of."

Shepard nodded. "Which begs the question of what they're doing here now."

"Exactly," said Coats. He pushed a datapad across the desk toward her. "Available personnel files there. You can pick your own squad."

She picked up the list and scrolled down. One name caught her eye immediately. "Can I have Vega?" She asked before she'd thought it through. There would be a certain comfort to working with James, since she knew how he operated, but maybe it would be better to start fresh with an entirely new team.

"James Vega? Certainly. Good choice, he had some experience with the geth under John Shepard."

She nodded, hoping she wouldn't regret the decision. "I'll look this over and let you know who else I want," she said. Who she wanted was Garrus, but she doubted he was on the approved roster.

"Send me a ping and I'll see it done. By the way, Lieutenant Commander—"

She looked up. Coats smiled. "There's a promotion pending for you, but with the current state of things, I'm not sure when the paperwork will go through. Congratulations, in any case."

Val bit her lip and nodded, seriously. "Thank you, sir." She should have been promoted after the Battle of the Citadel, but politics had hung it up somehow, and then death and Cerberus and scandal had kept it from happening. There was something strange about getting the rank in this existence that she'd never attained in the other. It would have made her laugh, if it didn't sting.

#

Shepard went down to the bar that night, head swimming from scanning dossiers between rounds of training sessions. Vega was a strong, skilled close-in fighter, and so was she, plus she supplied biotics. Vega was a decent longer-range shot, too. She liked to fill out her team with a couple of combat techs, ideally including a sniper. There were some good candidates on the list, but all of those people were strangers, nothing more than names in a file. She was out of the habit of fighting without people she knew at her back.

She didn't even really know James Vega any more, Val reminded herself as she collected her beer and sat down. Him, Garrus, some random Alliance marines — it was all the same thing really. They were all as good as strangers, and if she couldn't lead a combat team of strangers, she should just resign her commission right now.

"Hey, Goldie!"

Val squeezed her eyes shut and sighed loudly. "I told you not to call me that, James."

"I'm still workin' on it," he said. "Come on, take a load off."

Garrus was sharing Vega's table, and tipped his glass toward Val in a salute as she took her seat. "Commander."

"You could call me that," she pointed out to James.

"Off-duty? That's no fun. But." James tilted his chair back and grinned. "I hear you and me got a mission tomorrow, huh?"

She took a long drink, hoping she hadn't made a mistake. "Remember, in the field you report to me."

Garrus chuckled. James said easily, "Sure, sure. No problem. Gonna give me a little clue what this op's about?" He rocked his chair back and forth on its back legs, grinning like the a kid.

Val took another drink and raised an eyebrow. "What, you can't wait until a morning briefing?"

He shrugged. "Your call, boss. Just curious."

"Boss," she said, amused. "I like the sound of that."

Garrus laughed outright and kicked James' chair, forcing him to drop it to all four legs. Val found herself smiling, feeling more expansive and relaxed. Maybe this would work out after all. "Got some geth in the neighborhood. The brass wants us to go see what they're up to."

"Huh." James pursed his lips. "Geth, huh? Seen my share of flashlight-heads."

"I figured," she said.

Garrus chuckled. "You only think you've seen your share, Jimmy."

"Yeah, yeah." James took a drink himself. "Keep talking, Scars."

"Don't mind if I do," Garrus said. "I do believe I personally hold the record for most geth kills on the _Normandy_ , which also means, in the galaxy." He tipped his head with a flare of his mandibles that could only be interpreted as cocky.

"Sure it wasn't Shepard?" James asked. "The uh, the _Normandy_ 's Shepard, I mean."

"Shepard had a pretty good count," Garrus said lazily. "But I had the edge."

Their back-and-forth was so familiar that Val felt warm and relaxed. Over Vega's demands for proof, she asked impulsively, "Do you want to come?"

Garrus shot her a look of surprise, brow plates twitching. "You serious, Commander?"

She swallowed a mouthful. Her stomach lurched as she already half regretted the offer, but she wasn't going to back down now. Instead, she gave him a tight smile. "You're the one with experience, aren't you? Follow my orders in the field, and we'll be fine."

 

#

 

Shepard's palms itched as they landed their shuttle and disembarked. She took a deep breath and tried to settle herself. This was only a fact-finding mission to start with, she reminded herself. Might not be any fighting at all. And if there were —

It felt right to have James and Garrus at her back, but at the same time, everything felt wrong, just a little bit off kilter. James and Garrus joked and moved easily with each other, but their strides didn't match hers. They wouldn't fight with the sense of synchronization she was used to. They wouldn't know what to expect from her. She'd have to compensate for that, make sure she communicated clearly. On top of that, this armor wasn't hers; it was a new set that was plain black and didn't sit quite right on her shoulders. The head of the vehicle pool hadn't been too pleased when she showed up with a turian in tow, either. She was probably going to hear it from Coats later. She was supposed to have a larger squad, and a human one. She'd asked Garrus to join her on a whim. This whole thing, really, was her going off half-cocked and reckless.

Her lips spread out in a tight grin. Well, that was just like old times, wasn't it? Walk into unknown situations, talk or fight her way out of them. That was what Commander Shepard did best, wasn't it?

Their coordinates led them to a small hill in the rocky countryside. Colony records indicated a mine present, abandoned during the war. Seeing no sign of a geth ship, Shepard dropped the shuttle on the opposite side of the hill from the entrance, giving the shuttle a bit of cover if they did end up in a firefight. As she made her approach around the hill, in the open, with Garrus and Vega following along behind her, she saw the mine's entrance bulking dark against the hillside. Maybe some kind of natural cave, now buttressed with the prefab construction units that were ubiquitous in colonial space. In front of the entrance lay an assortment of bulky cargo crates.

And the geth. Six mobile platforms, moving cargo crates with their weird, mechanical grace.

"There they are," James muttered.

"Orders, Commander?" Garrus asked.

Shepard flicked her gaze from side to side, taking in the terrain, noting the location of a handful of boulders that could provide a little cover if they needed it. "Let me talk to them," she said. Their orders were not to engage unless the geth fired first. "Be ready just in case."

She waited until she got a pair of "affirmative"s from behind her and stepped forward, holding her hands loose and away from her sides. "Good morning," she called out.

All the geth stopped moving, limbs freezing in position. Their optical sensors wheeled toward her simultaneously. The hairs on the back of Val's neck tingled, and a shiver went down her spine.

"I'm with the Systems Alliance," she said slowly and carefully, taking another slow step forward. "We've tried contacting you, but you haven't answered our hails. Can I ask what you're doing on this colony?"

The geth did not respond. They remained motionless. Val waited in the glare of their optical sensors, trying not to betray her nervousness, but sweat was starting to gather at the back of her neck. She wished like hell that the quarians had given the geth faces. There was no way to tell what they might be thinking. She tried on a tentative smile, not even sure how the expression would read to the geth. Reassurance? Threat? "Do you understand me?" she asked.

Another geth stepped out of the mine to join its fellows. Then two more, and then another. Ten in all, every one of them simply standing there watching her. Val swallowed, feeling the first beads of sweat break out over her neck and forehead. "Okay then," she said slowly. "We're just going to have a look around in the mine, then."

The geth remained still as she took one more cautious step forward, leaving her hands exposed. Then, as one, all ten of them reached for their rifles.

"Take cover!" Val shouted. Her heart pounded, all her muscles tensing. In her peripheral vision, her companions slid into position behind rocks, fast and professional. Val felt a brief surge of satisfaction that they'd followed orders. She didn't move herself, but a twist of her arm pulled dark energy into a barrier around her. The barrier flickered blue as the first couple of shots slammed into it — geth fired fast — but once through the barrier, the shots thudded slowly against her armor, falling harmlessly to the ground.

"Garrus, overload at will, and scan for cloaked units," she called out.

"Understood."

She raised her fist, gathering the barrier and shield energies, and slammed it down, throwing the collected energy into the thickest clump of the geth. They rocked on their feet, staggering under the force of the wave, but not falling. Val called out, "Vega, hit them from the left, Garrus, take right."

Garrus said, "Commander, your shields—"

Before he could finish speaking, Shepard had braced herself and sent herself charging into the center of the cluster. Two of the geth collapsed under the impact. They weren't down for good, though. She'd arrived nearly on top of a third, its rifle pointing toward where she'd been standing. As its hulking form turned toward her, she called up her omni-blade with a flick of her wrist and jammed it into the geth's torso, jerking it upwards to slice through the geth's chassis. Another quick swipe sliced across the exposed circuitry linking the geth's head to its torso. It faltered and collapsed with a shrill whirring noise. In the comm, she could hear James cursing in Spanish, and the rattle of weapons fire from both his position and Garrus'. "Problem, lieutenant?" Val asked, yanking her shotgun off its magnetic catch and fired twice at the next available platform.

"You are _loca_ , Commander!"

"Save the commentary," she snapped. On her right, Garrus' rifle boomed, and a geth fell. On her left, another went down under Vega's fire. This was how she liked a fight to run: herself smashing through the center, while her team handled things at range. Vega and Garrus were picking off the outermost geth so they couldn't flank her team, good. They hadn't needed her to pick targets. Even in the middle of combat, the knowledge that she could trust them to fight smart relaxed her a little.

The two geth she'd collided with were struggling up to their feet. Val dodged away from them and fired a blast at a geth who'd just emerged from the mine. "Garrus, any cloaks?"

"Negative, Commander." There was a crackle and whir of electronics on the right flank. The outer edge of the overload field caught one of the geth she'd downed with her charge, which twitched and then lay still, smelling of ozone. Shepard raised her arm and slammed another energy discharge into the gathered geth, collapsing two more, which warbled as they fell. She grinned in satisfaction and bent her knees, flinging herself into a geth only a couple of yards away. She was braced for the hard impact; the geth wasn't, falling, and she fired a round at its head before it could get up again. She kept moving, tracking the sounds of Garrus's sniper rifle on one side and James's assault rifle on the other, but devoting most of her attention to the knot of geth converging on her. They didn't respond well to biotics, though; she was never in the same place for more than a few seconds, and they couldn't track the trajectory of her charge easily. She slammed into the last one in her immediate vicinity, emptied two shotgun blasts at it, and popped out the heatsink, taking a quick scan around. All of the geth were down, and James and Garrus were easing their way out of cover. Her heart rate started to slow to normal, though she was still breathing hard. Her face felt hot, and satisfaction poured through her. She still had it.

It wasn't time for the victory round of drinks yet, though.

"Check our perimeter," she said, shoving at the nearest geth with her boot.

"Damn, Commander," said James, turning around for a visual inspection. "I never saw anything like that before."

She cocked her head. "What, you've never served with a biotic?"

"Sure, but not like that! Thought biotics was all about floating things around and shit." He wiggled his fingers vaguely.

Garrus said, "Motion detector says we're clear, Commander."

"Good. Live and learn, Vega," she said, and looked around at the felled geth. She grimaced. Several of them were smoking, and nearly all of them were riddled with holes. "The problem with geth is they're difficult to question."

"That's the problem with geth?" James said, coming up beside her. At her look, he added, "Uh, no disrespect, Commander."

Val let out a long breath. There wasn't much chance of figuring out what the geth were up to in this state. She glanced at Garrus. "Any chance you can get anything out of them?"

He dropped into a crouch beside the most intact of the platforms, bringing up his omni-tool to scan it, but almost immediately shook his head. "I'm no AI expert. Deactivation destroys their memory units unless you know what you're doing. Tali might have— but she's not here. I'd barely know where to start."

His subharmonics buzzed a little before he reined them in, and his mandibles were tight to his jaw. Val would have given a lot to have Tali here, herself. She bit the inside of her cheek and prodded the nearest geth with her toe. Better to focus on things she could control. Aloud, she said, "Well, they weren't friendlies, so I think we can assume they were up to something."

"They were on our side during the war though," James said. "Don't know why they'd turn on us now."

"They might have another agenda." Garrus stood.

"They might not be free agents," Val said, scanning the horizon. She didn't see any Reapers.

"You think the Reapers are controlling them?" Garrus asked.

"I don't know." Privately, she thought it was likely, but that didn't answer the question of why, or what the geth were up to. "Let's take a look around. Vega, open up one of those crates for me."

The cargo crates turned out to contain little of interest: nothing more than minerals and metals scavenged from the mine. Val frowned as Vega rummaged through the crate, and then looked at the entrance to the mine. "Guess we'd better check it out."

"You got it, boss," James said, falling in beside her.

"There might be more geth inside," Garrus pointed out.

"Then let's be on our guard," she said.

Shepard had lost count of how many mines she'd had the misfortune of climbing or fighting her way through. More than anyone who wasn't a miner, probably. This one differed slightly by having a natural cave entrance, but inside the pathway was similar to most mines, drilled clean and supported with metal girders to keep the ceiling from collapsing. Knee-level lights activated as they passed, but all three of them turned on their helmet lights as well for more illumination. Other than that, darkness pressed around them. The beams from their helmets seemed thin and lonely, penetrating only a few feet into the enveloping black. The mine was silent, too, the air cool and stagnant. As they descended, Val's skin prickled with the awareness of the weight of the hill above them. She swallowed and kept walking, carefully.

Under the beam of her helmet, she could see the walls were cratered where minerals had been extracted. Colored flags marked sites for future excavation. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as she could tell. The silence swallowed their steps as they descended. At intervals, a side cavern opened off of the descending pathway. There they stopped and investigated more thoroughly, but found nothing besides tools and additional cargo containers, some of them empty, some of them filled with ore just as the ones on the surface had been. There were a few odds and ends of furniture — chairs, tables — but no other signs of human habitation. The geth, of course, didn't need to leave convenient written memos lying around. Shepard sighed.

"Not much here," Garrus observed.

"There's got to be something," she muttered, half to herself. "There's no reason for them to be hiding that they were clearing out a mine."

"How far we goin', here?" James asked. "Mining shafts can go on for miles."

James was right, but Val wasn't ready to be done yet. "A little further," she said, even though she didn't have any real goal in mind. Even so, she hated to turn back without any real information when they'd come this far.

James sighed, but kept walking. Val frowned at his back. Behind her, Garrus said nothing, but she could hear the creak of his armor as he walked.

A few minutes later, they moved into the fourth storage area they'd found so far. "Well, here's a different thing, anyway," James, in the lead, offered.

Val stepped sideways so she could see around the bulky lieutenant. This area seemed to have once been an infirmary: it held a couple of cots, a console, and a large white kit marked with a red cross. Between the two cots, on a small table, sat a silver sphere a little larger than her head. Its surface was dull and smooth, reflecting a distorted image of them and the room.

"Huh," said James. "What the hell is that?" He took a couple of steps toward it while Val frowned. She'd definitely seen something like that before, but where and when?

Her eyes widened as she made the connection. "Wait!" she called, reaching for James' arm. "Don't touch it, Vega."

He stopped with hand extended. "Why not?"

"Because touching unknown objects is not usually the best idea?" she snapped, and eased her way closer, cautiously. Yes. She was pretty sure this was the kind of sphere she'd seen on that mining station at Mahavid, and in Dr. Bryson's lab. The size and the dull sheen both fit, anyway.

It was a Leviathan orb, but what was it doing here?

"Do you know what it is?" Garrus asked.

Val blew out a breath as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. If she admitted she knew what it was, that would raise more questions, wouldn't it? She'd have to explain how she knew, offer some kind of plausible lie.

It took a moment for her to realize that Garrus should have known perfectly well what it was, and she turned to look at him. "Do you?"

He looked back at her, head tilted, and then looked at the sphere. She watched glimmering information scroll across his visor. His brow plates and mandibles twitched, and Garrus shook his head. "Never seen it before."

She stared at him, but he wasn't showing any signs of stress or concealment. Garrus wasn't a great liar; he was better at obfuscating and dodging questions. Now, he just looked back at her with curiosity. Slowly, she breathed out through her nose. She glanced at James, and found him staring at her with equal puzzlement. "What about you, Vega?"

He shrugged. "Nope. What's the big deal?"

She hesitated. A fresh wave of sweat broke out on her forehead. They should have known, shouldn't they? She remembered hunting down the Leviathan, the Reaper-killer. If the other Shepard had done what she had done, why didn't Garrus and James know about it? Had they not been present for those missions? Val licked her lips and said, "Did... did your Shepard ever have contact with a researcher called Bryson?"

"Bryson," said Garrus thoughtfully.

James shook his head. "No, I don't... wait, yeah, there was this guy on the Citadel. Died right after, though."

"That's right," Garrus said. "His research didn't seem to lead anywhere. Just a false trail."

Val swallowed. "Really." She eyed the orb, which lay quietly, looking innocuous. She knew better, though; her heart was already beating faster. With orbs like these, the Leviathan could control organic minds. Could they control geth, as well? "He didn't find out anything about the Leviathan, then?"

"Just some kinda crackpot legend, no?" James said.

"So were the Reapers," Val said. "And the Collectors. Find me an empty crate, will you?" She wasn't sure an ordinary container would shield the orb adequately, but better that than nothing. They couldn't just leave it here.

James left, grumbling a little. Val watched the orb, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Naturally, it did nothing. She felt a little cold, but maybe that was just her imagination. The power of suggestion. Choking cold and the weight of fathoms of water above her.

_You do not belong here._

She didn't, did she? Her shoulders stiffened inside her armor that didn't quite fit.

"What do you know about the Leviathan, Commander?" Garrus asked.

Great. Now she had to come up with something. Val bit her lip, racking her brain for a good response. "Supposed to be a race that opposed the Reapers. They could control minds." It seemed most important to name the threat.

"Like indoctrination?" He'd come a few steps closer, and stood with his arms folded, head tilted to the side.

She swallowed down the ache in her throat at the familiar posture. "Something like that."

"Where did you hear that?"

She wavered for a second. "Classified." It was too smooth, too easy, but it was the only thing she could come up with.

"Hm." Garrus' mandibles tightened.

He was probably thinking that they could have used that intel when they were talking to Bryson. "Did you encounter Ann Bryson? Dr. Bryson's daughter?"

"I don't think so," Garrus said. "I never heard Shepard mention her, at any rate."

Maybe Ann Bryson was still out there somewhere, then. Assuming she'd survived the war. When Val had found her, she'd been in a hell of a mess.

Vega came back a few minutes later, hauling an empty crate. They loaded the orb in and carried it out of the mine. James and Garrus didn't ask her any more questions, returning to their banter as they flew their shuttle back to camp. Val slouched in her seat, letting the autopilot do the work. Now she had to figure out how to explain about the orb in her reports.

Did _anyone_ else know about the Leviathan? Could the Alliance reach Ann Bryson, or anyone else who might know how to deal with the orb? Val's memories might be delusions, but she hadn't invented the geth's hostility. Something was definitely wrong here, and the sphere was the only strange thing they'd found in that mine.

She could only hope bringing it in was the right call.


	10. Chapter 9

"I can't believe you involved a turian in an Alliance mission," Coats exclaimed. He'd been pacing behind his desk when Shepard entered his office, and now stood frowning at her, fists braced on his hips.

Shepard lifted her chin. She'd known he probably wouldn't like her choice to invite Garrus along, but she was willing to bet he wouldn't do more than reprimand her. "You said I could have whoever I wanted."

"I said you could have whatever _Alliance_ personnel you wanted."

"Vakarian has plenty of experience working with Alliance personnel, and he's got by far the most experience fighting geth."

"Vakarian's also high in the Hierarchy command structure. There's no way they don't know about the whole incident." He shook his head and sighed, breath whistling out between his teeth.

Shepard couldn't very well explain why she'd wanted Garrus particularly. She took the offensive instead and raised her eyebrows. "Aren't the turians our allies? Is there some reason we want to conceal this from them?"

Coats ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. Shepard hadn't seen the man so agitated before. "It would be nice if we had a better idea what was going on," he bit out. "What's the situation with this sphere you hauled back?"

"Be careful with it," she said sharply. "It needs to be shielded, it..." Val stopped herself at the wary look on Coats' face. She was getting presumptuous. If a subordinate officer had talked to her this way, she'd be seriously annoyed. She had to be more careful not to overstep her bounds.

"Shielded for what?"

She took in a breath and let it out, slowly, trying to figure out how much she could say. Should say. "I think it was controlling the geth somehow."

Coats frowned, skeptical. "Some kind of indoctrination device? That seems like a leap. Reapers don't need indoctrination to control the geth. They've got direct access to their code. What happened on Rannoch showed that."

"Still," she said. "Doesn't the Alliance have some kind of record of objects like this?"

His eyebrows rose, then pulled together. "Not that I'm aware of. Could be the report never crossed my desk." He gave her a hard look, waiting.

It was an invitation to give him a real explanation, Val realized. Unfortunately, all she had were details from her memories of the _Normandy_. Val hesitated, trying to assemble what she knew, or thought she knew, into something a practical Alliance officer might find persuasive. "There was a man named Bryson," she tried, "who was researching a Reaper-killer. The Leviathan?"

Coats sat back in his chair with another frown. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Vega said Sh- the _Normandy_ crew had encountered him. But Bryson was murdered by his assistant, and the trail seemed cold. That sphere, or one like it, it was controlling the murderer, somehow."

Coats stared at her. Shepard tried very hard not to look like she was crazy or desperate. Eventually he said, in a dubious tone, "I suppose it won't hurt anything to keep it contained."

She wanted to sigh in relief. She settled for saying, "Thank you, sir."

He sat down in his desk chair, and waved her to the seat opposite. "I question how we're to study it without closer observation, however."

"The researcher's daughter. Ann Bryson." Shepard tried to sound confident. "She should be able to help."

Coats' eyebrows went up again. "You know where she is? Or even if she'd alive?"

Shepard pressed her lips together. "No," she had to admit.

He shook his head. "I'll put the word out, but it's a long shot. We're having a hell of a time keeping track of people who _are_ Alliance personnel, let alone civilians. There are millions of people unaccounted for, Shepard."

Val swallowed. It was so easy to get caught up in her own routine and her own problems that she lost sight of the bigger picture. Feeling a little ashamed of herself, she said tightly, "I'm aware of that, sir."

"So you want us to just keep this thing in storage?"

Hell, maybe she should have left it in that mine. It was too late for second-guessing now, though. "That... might be for the best," Shepard hedged. "Until someone with appropriate qualifications can have a look at it."

Coats' mouth curled. "We're a little short of scientists on-site, I'll give you that. What makes you think this Bryson woman can help, anyway?"

"She's familiar with her father's work, sir." Val hoped that was still true, at least.

"And you're acquainted with this woman? You know she's reliable?"

 _Acquainted, in a manner of speaking_. "I know her reputation, sir."

Coats' face twisted into a frown again. "There's no reference to any of this in your file."

Val put on a tight smile. She hadn't managed to think of a sufficiently plausible lie. Could she attempt to pass it off as an error in her records? Something sufficiently classified it didn't even make her file? Coats undoubtedly had a higher clearance than she did, which would make it difficult to pull that one off. She settled for saying nothing at all.

Coats finally shook his head and gave up staring at her. "Clear it with me first before you involve any non-Alliance personnel next time," he sighed.

"Yes, sir." Relief washed over her. She'd gotten her way this time. Now if only he'd give her a little more...

Coats reached for the first of the stack of datapads on his desk. "Dismissed, Commander," he said without looking up.

"Actually, I had a request. Sir," Val added. "Could I have access to the _Normandy_ mission reports?"

Coats raised his head and looked at her with eyebrows arched. "Why? This seems like an odd time for hero worship."

Her face turned hot. "It's not that. I'd like to see the report on Bryson, that's all." What she really wanted was to see what the other Shepard had done, whether there were other things left out, and what familiar events lay, distorted, behind those reports. She didn't have much to help her understand what was happening, but those reports might help.

"It's a little irregular," he said.

Shepard held her breath, trying to come up with another argument that might sway him.

"The whole situation's irregular, though," he grumbled, looking down at his desk. "Fine. I'll see you have access."

She took that for the boon it was, and left Coats' office before he could change his mind.

#

Val had half-hoped the reports would be released to her that day, though she knew the Alliance bureaucracy rarely moved so quickly. Still, without them, she felt tensed like a wire, and fidgeted her way through the morning's training sessions and lunch. It took an effort to keep up her patience with the half-dozen beginner biotics she was supervising that day and their wavering barriers. That was one of her own weak points, limiting how much she could demonstrate for them. She needed to get these youngsters mingled with some of the other more experienced biotics.

She rewrote the schedule of training sessions after she'd dismissed the group, which took an hour of fiddling. By that time, her most experienced group had showed up for their afternoon session — that, she needed to leave on the schedule, because it was important for this crew to train against challenging opponents. She paired them off and set them to work, barriers against warp or singularity or whatever they could muster as an attack. She demoed her charge a couple of times; most of them couldn't manage the maneuver, but a couple of them were interested in trying it out. All in all, it was a good enough session, ending with everyone sweaty and scarfing down energy bars. Val thought, guiltily, that it was a lot easier to work with biotics at this level.

It was still mid-afternoon when she locked up the training room behind her, but after the events of the last day, she really wanted a drink.

... possibly that was a bad sign.

At this early hour of the day, the bar was mostly empty; Celina, behind the bar, gave Val a nod as she came in. One of the younger servers was leaning against a bar stool, listening to the sandy-haired man sitting on it. An older man was snoring in the corner; there was no one else there. The guy at the bar waved his hands for emphasis, leaving a thin trail of smoke from the cigarette in his left hand.

The server giggled. "I can't believe you really faced down a marauder like that."

"Had no choice, really." The man took a puff. "It was him or me, after all."

She giggled again. Val rolled her eyes at the obvious posturing and flirtation. The man at the bar turned his head enough to cast his face into profile and Val stopped, eyes narrowed. He didn't look at her, but continued talking to the younger woman. She stared at him, taking in his features: sandy-blond hair, pale green eyes, and a crooked nose, the same shape she'd seen enough times in her own reflection. He spoke with a Russian accent, accurate enough to her ears but also — a near-perfect mimicry of her mother's.

Hardly believing her eyes and ears, Val took a couple of steps forward. That did catch the man's attention; he turned to glance at her, and his own eyes widened. She saw a flash of recognition there, one that mirrored the certainty growing deep in her gut. He took another drag on the cigarette and swiveled on his stool, leaning back against the bar. "Val. There you are."

Shepard remembered her brother twelve years old, with a nose too big for his sharp face. The smartest out of the four of them, short for his age and sharp-tongued. They'd bickered frequently, but he'd been the one to help her with her math and science, even though he was four years younger.

He wasn't twelve years old any more. She had nothing, no memory of the years in between. Frustration rose in her, lodging in her throat with the unfairness of it all, that she had no idea how to talk to her brother as an adult. All she remembered was a twelve-year-old boy who'd died before coming into his promise, not the adult man who sat on a bar stool with blond stubble on his chin and green eyes that gave her nothing back.

She swallowed, clearing the thickness from her throat to find words. "Alex," she said. His name felt strange in her mouth, she hadn't said it for so long. "What are you doing here?" _What am I doing here?_

He shrugged, scruffy and nonchalant in his battered jacket. "Heard you were looking for me."

"So you came here?" Her voice came out sharp and aggressive. Terra Nova, fine, but why the bar, instead of coming right to find her? The youngserver edged away, her expression shifting somewhere between disappointment and curiosity.

Alex shrugged again, apparently taking no notice of her tone. "Thought I might need a drink first."

She snorted in spite of herself, though the statement made her heart speed up. Didn't they get along? "Nice way to treat your only sister," she said.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk."

She had no good response to that; she didn't even know what he meant by it. Unease settled in her gut. "Am I that bad?" she muttered.

He laughed and flashed her a crooked smile before taking a drag on the cigarette. She couldn't see anything past the smile and the lounging posture, and the uncertainty left her floundering. She should be able to read her own brother, shouldn't she? Even after a decade apart? Couldn't they be easier on each other? She added, "I was trying to find you."

"I know. I heard. Through the grapevine." He extended an arm. "So here I am."

Right. If he was here, there couldn't be that much bad blood between them. "Well, it's been a while, right? Maybe we should talk?"

"Aren't we talking?" he said, and at the look on her face, relented. "Sure." He stubbed out his cigarette on a battered piece of metal that passed for an ashtray and started for the corner booth farthest away from the bar. Not the one Garrus and James usually favored, and Val found she was obscurely glad for the change. Celina poured Val her usual without comment; she took the glass and followed Alex.

She took her seat and sipped her drink, trying to find a position that felt relaxed. Alex, slouching on the other side of the table, seemed to have no such problem. "So what have you been up to?" she asked, aiming for casual.

He gave her another shrug, eyes cool. "You know. This and that. Trying to stay alive. Got roped into working on the Crucible project for a while. You?"

The way he kept being flippant, her questions gliding off him like water, was starting to get on her nerves. "I was with a new special biotics unit," she said, deciding to stick with what was on her record. "We were in London, at the end. I got out of the hospital a couple weeks ago, just got cleared for duty again."

"Good." He nodded. "Glad you're okay. I figured you'd be in the thick of things."

"I... yeah, thanks." She didn't feel like she was in the thick of things, compared to what she remembered. It was jarring, and Alex's assessing gaze didn't help. He sounded sincere enough, though, if still nonchalant. She took a deep breath. "Mama said you hadn't been in touch for a while."

He leaned back and frowned. The way his forehead creased and his eyes tightened was suddenly, breathtakingly familiar. That face, Val knew. "I let her know I was okay," he said, a defensive note creeping into his voice. Like a kid who hadn't called home after school. Val knew that tone, too.

She shook her head. "I know, I wasn't trying to criticize."

"Okay." He still sounded wary. She tried again.

"Look, I ran into some people lately, who said you'd been working with them before the war." It had to be true, didn't it — if he wasn't connected to Jacob and Cerberus, he wouldn't have gotten her message at all. But she wanted to hear it from him, personally. Not just that he'd done it, but why.

Instead, his expression closed up entirely, and he glanced at a point somewhere over her shoulder. "I did a lot of things before the war. Can't believe everything you hear, you know."

"You did," she said with conviction. She'd believed Garrus, of course, and the fact that her message to Jacob had brought Alex here was proof enough, but this — yes, she knew this face. This was the stonewalling expression of a little brother trying to dodge punishment. Her frustration and disquiet boiled up and out of her mouth. " _Cerberus_ , Alex? You joined _Cerberus_?" She leaned over and punched him in the shoulder for emphasis. "You know they're _terrorists_ , right?"

"Ow." Alex rubbed his shoulder, looking wounded. She remembered that face, too: he used to get her in trouble with it.

"Baby," she spat, a teenager's reflexes taking hold.

"Bully," he snapped back.

They glared at each other, her with her teeth half-bared, him with narrowed eyes and a tight mouth. Then Alex sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Yes. I was with Cerberus. I knew you'd be this way. You want to talk about it? Let's talk about it."

She thought he almost, possibly, seemed relieved. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small metal case, popped it open, and took out a cigarette and lighter.

"Oh my God." Val had to fight the urge to snatch the lighter out of his hand. "Do you have to smoke now?"

"It's soothing." He clicked the lighter a couple of times before the flame lit.

She scowled at him. "Soothing? Seriously? Where did this come from, anyway? Is the Illusive Man your mentor now, or something?" _The Illusive Man_. _Shit_. She'd seen him die, but had that really happened? Or was he out there somewhere, scheming and manipulating away?

The cigarette lit, but Alex stared at her, ignoring it. "The Illusive Man smokes?"

It took Val a second to realize that she'd made a mistake.

"Uh. So I'd... imagine," she said, weakly. Shit. Shit shit shit. Stupid, stupid mistake. "Like a villain from the vids."

Alex tucked the case and lighter away and took a puff. "I've never seen the man," he said, brows drawn together. "Only cell leaders do. Sometimes. I guess. Maybe not even then. Above my pay grade, so I wouldn't really know."

She looked away, tapping her foot against the leg of the table. She took a drink to gather her thoughts. "Why'd you do it?" She hoped, desperately, that her little brother hadn't somehow turned into a full-fledged human supremacist. But knowing Miranda and Jacob and Kelly and the rest of the SR-2 crew had taught her that people joined even the shadiest organizations for all sorts of reasons.

"What, join Cerberus?"

"Obviously," she snapped, and blew out a breath, trying to calm herself. If he was willing to talk, she didn't want to push him away now. "Yeah, that."

A moment, while he heard him inhale the smoke and blow it out. "To tell the truth, I was probably in before I knew it. It was just one thing after another, you know? I was working on civilian sector R&D projects. Got promoted, got moved to more interesting labs. Some of those had to be Cerberus projects, even if I didn't know it, so who knows when I was first in. Eventually I hit a point where someone sat me down for the talk. Are you in, or are you out. Give us a commitment. Hints about what kind of opportunities might come next, dangling the carrot. Intimations that interesting work would dry up if I said I was out. So I said I was in."

She turned her eyes back to him as he inhaled the smoke. He was looking off into the distance, seeing something else. "They're good at getting the people they want, you know. Smart people, skilled people. A lot of scientists will jump at the chance to work on the most challenging, most exciting projects, with less paperwork and less oversight. No need to chase after government and corporate funding."

"Ethically challenged projects," Val said pointedly.

"Yeah, sometimes." Alex brought the cigarette to his lips. "Look, most people aren't sitting around going 'muahaha, I want to be an evil mad scientist!' But review and oversight processes are cumbersome. Nobody goes into science because they want to fill out a million forms justifying every little thing they want to do. Cerberus streamlines all that stuff and pays pretty well. Little by little, things slip."

Val stayed silent but nodded, reluctantly. She could see how it would happen.

"Anyway, they gave me a lab full of equipment and interesting problems to investigate. I was doing that... hm. Not quite a year, I guess. Then they sent me to the _Normandy_ to assist Dr. Solus." She saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye. "That was even better work. Mordin's brilliant, absolutely brilliant. And the Collector tech we were working on..." He shook his head. "Amazing. You can't imagine what it was like."

"I guess not," she said. A sickening thought suddenly occurred to her, and she leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table. "Alex. Were you okay? Were you in the fighting, or—"

He shook his head. "Ship crew only." His lips twitched into a grimace. "That was... well, we knew it was a high-risk mission, but the consequences were still... unforeseen."

"The Collectors," she whispered, her stomach churning with nausea. She could still remember that colonist screaming as she melted in her pod, and that could have been _Alex_.

He was staring at her. "Who _have_ you been talking to?"

She leaned back, recovering herself. "Garrus," she said. "But you were... okay, in the end?"

"Vakarian, huh," he said, and added, "I'm here, aren't I?" He paused for a long drag. "So. Fortunately the cavalry showed up in time. We got back after, and the Commander did what he did. Mission over, I went back to my lab, but the whole thing had made me think. Then I started hearing rumors about other techs started disappearing." He shook his head, his mouth twisting. "If Cerberus was cleaning up loose ends, I wasn't going to sit around for that. I called a couple of contacts and disappeared first." Another drag on the cigarette, and he glanced to the side. " _You_ weren't ever supposed to know. None of the family was."

"Until I had something they wanted," she said. "Then they'd use you to get it out of me." She could see that possibility all too clearly, too. It would have been easy to blackmail her with her brother's life.

His shoulders twitched. "Yeah. Maybe. If that ever happened. If you think they're not everywhere in the Alliance already, you're naive."

"Yeah," she muttered, thinking of the Leviathan orb now in storage with a sinking sensation. "What about now?"

"What _about_ now? I've been trying to avoid Cerberus, not hanging out with them." Alex shook his head. "Like I said, I had a couple of contacts, and got roped into the Crucible thing. Not really my area, but it paid, and it was about as safe as anywhere could be. That's obviously done now. Heard you were here, and here I am."

"Here you are," she said softly. Her anger and frustration had faded, leaving her relieved, halfway to amazed. Seeing her brother again was more than she'd ever hoped for. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"A few years," he agreed. His gaze suddenly seemed sharp. "You were hurt."

She shrugged. "Yeah. I'm fine now. Got off lucky, considering."

"I guess we all did." He put out the cigarette and spread his hands. "So there you go, the sordid story of Alex joining Cerberus."

She shook her head. "Mostly I'm glad you're okay, Sasha." The old childhood nickname slipped out without any thought. He'd insisted on Alex when he started getting older, like she'd preferred the more Anglo Val, but she'd always called him Sasha from time to time.

For once, Alex didn't object to it. He gave her a crooked smile, one that seemed warmer now. "Likewise, sister mine."

"You know," she said slowly, trying not to smile back. "Mama's also here."

His eyes widened. "Mama's here? Hell. Is she all right?"

"She's fine. Practically running the quartermaster's office, as far as I can tell. She took up knitting."

Alex regarded her with a slow blink. Val hid her grin by finishing her drink. "You should come to dinner with us."


	11. Chapter 10

" _Sasha!_ "

Mama's reaction to Alex's arrival was everything Val could have hoped for. She stood back, arms crossed, while Mama flung her arms around Alex and babbled endearments in Russian and kissed him on both cheeks. Alex, meanwhile, staggered under the impact, cheeks turning red as Mama called him her wonderful smart boy.

It threw something in relief that was odd to realize — how much shorter Mama was. Val was still a few centimeters taller than Alex, and he had a considerable leg up on Mama. Had she always been that short? A frown crept over Val's face as she tried to remember. She'd been taller than Mama already when she was fifteen, she thought, but this much taller?

"And _you_ , Valenka." Val's attention was dragged back as Mama turned and caught her into her own hug, yanking so she had to bend over and let herself be kissed on the cheek, too. "You never told me you talked to your brother."

"I didn't want to tell you before I'd heard from him," she said, straightening back up. Alex smirked at her over Mama's shoulder. On an evil impulse, she added, "You know how he is."

Alex's eyes narrowed into a glare.

"And then he just showed up, so... here we are."

"Yes!" Mama managed to keep hold of both of them, somehow, looping an arm around each. "Now dinner, yes? And Sasha, you must come tell me everything you've been up to."

"I'm... not exactly here officially, Mama. I don't have ration chits." Alex's eyes shifted, and Val wondered how exactly he had gotten here, if it wasn't _official_.

Mama made a dismissive noise. "Pfff. Then we will make it official, yes? And we'll find you quarters after dinner. Yes."

That was settled, then, and Anna Shepard strode toward the mess hall dragging both Val and Alex along with her. The sensation roused Shepard's dim, half-buried childhood memories of trailing after her mother, usually clutching a younger brother with her free hand, a strangely nostalgic feeling.

But once they sat down with their meals, everything turned much more awkward. The conversation would have been distinctly stilted if Mama had not carried on asking questions and chattering about her own work. Alex was cagey about his own work. He was clearly not about to mention Cerberus to Mama, and the Crucible work, he said, was still classified. Val, for her part, found herself sitting stiffly in silence, afraid of making a mistake. She could talk about the biotics training she was running, at least, which Alex seemed to find inordinately funny, but when Mama started asking Alex about people they presumably knew, Val fell silent and focused on her meal. Some of the names she didn't recall at all, others she remembered vaguely as neighbors or schoolmates, but all of those faces were blurred and frozen as they'd been decades ago. It made her feel uncomfortably like an outsider — or at least, Alex seemed to remember them. And anyway, it seemed a futile exercise, since Mama and Alex could account for only a handful of people between the two of them, and Val just shook her head when Mama turned to her.

"Oh!" said Mama after a while of this. "I heard from Talitha, she's well."

"Still on Mindoir?" Alex asked.

"No, she was at uni on Elysium, still is."

"Talitha?" Val asked, trying to place the name.

Mama gave her a strange look. "Da, your baby brother's girlfriend?"

The last Val remembered, her baby brother had been six. She nodded vaguely to pretend she remembered. The name Talitha, though, that sounded almost familiar...

 _They put a collar on it_.

The name clicked into place, and Val had to fight not to show her horror. She ducked her head and wiped her mouth with her napkin to hide her expression. Oh, yes, she remembered Talitha: a fragile, scarred young woman Shepard had met on the Citadel docks, who talked about her enslavement and torture in a child's voice while her calloused hands shook. "Right, of course. It just... slipped my mind."

Alex scoffed. "She and Ivan have been sweet on each other since they were twelve and you forgot?"

Her shoulders pulled up, defensively. "There's been a lot going on."

"You're going to forget your head next." Alex leaned over and ruffled her hair. _No one_ did that, ever, not even Garrus. She yelped in shock and batted his hand away, probably harder than she should have.

"Now, now, leave your sister alone," Mama said indulgently.

"You always take her side," Alex said, but he sat back in his chair smiling.

Val gave him a wary look, trying to figure out if the remark was a joke or an observation. She didn't remember their childhood that way, but that was normal, wasn't it? Siblings remembered things differently? Remembered others being the favored child, while they were the ones put-upon?

She needed to change the subject before they got any further into things she didn't remember, so she said the first thing that came to mind. "There really isn't _anything_ you can tell us about your work? I thought you worked on gene stuff, what does that have to do with the Crucible?" The Crucible might have been the war's worst-kept secret — no secret at all any more — but she couldn't think what role genetics research might play in it.

"Genetic engineering and xenoneuroscience," Alex said in annoyance, but then shrugged. "I mean, you're right, most of the project was engineering and construction and a little physics. Anyone could follow those schematics, that's part of what was weird about them. I was working on some other stuff. This and that. Prothean data always comes with some weirdness that seems like some kind of neural coding. The way we display it filters most of that out because it's garbage data to us, but it must have meant something to the Protheans. They wanted me to take a look at that stuff and make sure they weren't missing anything vital to complete the project."

"Oh," Val said in recognition, thinking of Javik. His biotic abilities came naturally to him, but were like nothing any other species could produce, especially his peculiar sensitivity to trace impressions left by organic beings. She'd already learned the hard way that Prothean communications were not intended to be deciphered by human brains; it made sense that there would be something more in their data.

Alex shot her a lopsided grin. "And that's the stuff I'm pretty sure I can't talk about. Sorry. They had me looking at indoctrination for a while, too."

She leaned forward, her curiosity engaged. Indoctrination had caused too many problems that she knew of, claimed too many good people. Anything that could help bring them back was worth looking into. "Really? What about it?"

Mama frowned, drawing herself together. "Indoctrination," she muttered. "They warned us about that. I don't like it. Take you over, make you do things you wouldn't want to."

Alex's mouth pulled to the side. "Well," he said, "that's what I was trying to do. Find a way to block or stop indoctrination."

Val said, "I thought if we shielded Reaper artifacts..." She stopped herself short, remembering Amanda Kenson's team out at Bahak. Her fingers tightened around her fork, the metal cutting into her palm.

"Diminishes the effect, that's all." Alex said crisply. "Conventional shielding is crude at best, though, and cumbersome. Leads people to take shortcuts, and then they're exposed to the indoctrination object anyway. Simpler, cleaner systems would be more effective."

"Any way to reverse it?" Val asked. She was tapping her fork against her tray, she realized, and put it down, folding her hands in her lap.

"The alterations to the brain appear to be irreversible." Alex wrinkled his nose, and his mouth tightened. "So far as I know. Not actually a neurosurgeon, you know."

"Why are we still talking about this?" Mama exclaimed, shuddering. "I told you I don't like it."

"Sorry, Mama," Alex said. Val hastily did the same.

She pulled him aside as they were leaving the mess hall, though, and said, "Listen... there's something I recovered for the Alliance a couple of days ago that maybe you should see."

#

Alone in her tiny quarters, Shepard stretched out on her bed and frowned at the files Coats had authorized for her. The other Shepard's files. John's files.

Nothing on Leviathan. Nothing on Bryson — on either of the Brysons. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not a whisper, not a hint of anything about the Leviathan or their mind control. Nothing on Despoina, nothing on Ann Bryson's dig site at Namakli, nothing on the mining operation at Mahavid. Maybe John Shepard had just never gone to any of those places; either he'd never found out about Bryson's research in the first place, or he'd gotten the lead and overlooked it. She only had his reports, not his correspondence. Garrus and James had both remembered the name, though, had said the evidence seemed like a wild goose chase. So he just hadn't followed up on it?

Maybe she'd missed something. Looking through the reports more carefully, Val found herself getting more irritated with John Shepard. Nobody loved writing reports, but there was a way to do it right, though, to be concise and efficient, without leaving out details that might be important to command later. John Shepard's reports were terse to the point of brusqueness, and bizarrely vague. He never included a clear rationale for his actions. Every time she left off skimming to read in more depth, she was left with as many questions as answers. He never mentioned division among the krogan, or the dalatrass's offer to sabotage the cure, for example; had those things even happened, or had he left them out deliberately?

He must have driven the brass nuts, she thought. She pitied whatever unfortunate administrative officer had to review and file the damned things. Maybe he'd gotten out of the habit of writing decent reports when he was with Cerberus.

For that matter, Kaidan must have driven John Shepard nuts, too, if Kaidan's reports were anything like the meticulous, thorough, detailed things he'd handed to her.

She was wasting time, though, and she still hadn't found any trace of Bryson or the Leviathan in John Shepard's reports, and her eyes were starting to burn.

But Garrus and James remembered Bryson.

Which meant John Shepard had lied: deliberately omitted the Bryson encounter from his reports. And, if Garrus and James were right, hadn't pursued Bryson's leads.

Why?

The omni-tool beeped forlornly at her, so she shut it down and set it aside to charge, turned off the lights and lay down to sleep.

Her mind kept racing, though. Maybe she should give John Shepard the benefit of the doubt; maybe he just hadn't seen Bryson's information as valuable, especially with Bryson himself dead. He'd had a war to fight. Maybe he'd pursued other ways of winning it.

That was probably it. The Leviathan thing had always been a long shot. Val had regretted going after it more than once.

It took her a long time to fall asleep that night. When she did, she dreamed of cold and pressure fathoms below the ocean's surface, while something whispered its way into her mind.

#

Getting permission for Alex to look at the orb turned out to be easier than Val had feared.

"I didn't know you'd be bringing your own personal expert, Commander," Coats observed, his eyebrows twitching.

"Pure coincidence, sir," she replied, trying to be on her best behavior. Alex frowned slightly.

Coats' eyebrows twitched. He said, "A timely coincidence. Your credentials certainly look good."

"Thanks," Alex said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Val said you have some kind of indoctrination device?"

"So she says," Coats said. Alex gave her a quick look at Coats continued. "We've deployed the shielding recommended for Reaper devices, but this object is different, so we don't know if the same measures will be effective." He spread his hands.

"Hm," Alex said. "I can examine it. I'll need computer time for data analysis, and possibly a research assistant."

Val held her breath, but Coats agreed to the first without hesitation and said he'd look into arranging for someone to be assigned. From there, it was just a matter of signing a series of forms. Before long, Alex had the key to the lab space in hand. Val kept pace with him as he headed out to the designated building: yet another prefab.

"This is not a lab," Alex proclaimed once he'd unlocked the door and turned the light on. "This is a fucking storage locker."

Val had to admit he was right; the long part of the L-shaped building was mostly full of storage crates. There was a workstation including a screen and computer console, and a table strewn with a jumble of tools she couldn't identify, and the orb itself, lying innocently on a foam bed inside a clear box. The box had a panel of glowing lights, all green or gold, and hummed softly. "Sorry," she said.

"At least there's power," Alex muttered, striding down the length of the L. He opened the door that led into the short end of the L, peered in, and grunted. "Guess what? More crates!"

"Well, you won't run out," she joked.

Alex's lips twitched. "Yeah, we wouldn't want a shortage. So is that it?" He jerked his head toward the orb in its box. "Or do I have to start opening crates?"

"That's it," Val said, watching it as if it might make a sudden move. She knew that was irrational, but the thing made her jumpy. She couldn't help it.

Alex came up beside her, frowning skeptically. The expression was familiar enough to make her heart ache. He said, "That's an indoctrination device?"

"I don't know if it's indoctrination, exactly," she said, hedging while she tried to find the right, most persuasive words. "But it's some kind of... I don't know, some kind of conduit, maybe. Something that can influence people's minds and memories, even allow them to be controlled remotely."

Alex shook his head quickly, his eyebrows lowering. "That not how indoctrination works. Reaper devices implant suggestions. Even compulsions to act in the Reapers' interests, or to obey instructions conveyed separately. They appear to use both ultrasonic and infrasonic waves that change neural architecture entirely to make the subject even more suggestible. They don't allow direct control."

The words made Val flinch, as if Harbinger's deep voice still echoed in her skull. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her fingers digging into her arms. "As far as you know," she said. "And besides, I said it might be different from indoctrination."

Alex shot her a skeptical sideways glance. "So, what, you found this thing with some hostile geth? Geth don't even have organic brains. They can't be indoctrinated. They're just code."

"I don't even know if it was being _used_ on the geth," Val snapped, and took a breath to collect herself. "Look, we need somebody to study it and find out how it actually works. Why are you asking me all these questions?"

"Because it seems like you're the only one who knows anything about it," he shot back. "You know anything more that you're not saying?"

She bit her lip, staring at the orb as if it would answer her questions, too aware of Alex's sharp gaze in her peripheral vision. _Imagine something that could compel a person to murder their own mentor_ , she wanted to say. _Imagine a device that could control a whole mining station for years, wiping out people's memories entirely_. Instead, she said, "Have you ever heard of a thing called the Leviathan? A Reaper-killer?"

Alex snorted. "We don't need Reaper-killers any more, now, do we? The Reapers are our friends. Or something."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked hotly.

He shrugged. "They're not killing us for now. That's good enough for me."

She gritted her teeth, her mind rebelling. "Is it really?"

Alex frowned. "No, I haven't heard anything about your Reaper-killer. What about it?"

"It's not _my_ Reaper-killer," she said, exasperated. "Look. There was a man named Bryson who thought he was onto something, on the trial of the Reaper-killer, and he was murdered suddenly." She hoped she was telling the truth; Vega hadn't been clear about what happened to Bryson. "By his own assistant, who claimed not to remember it. No motive. But an orb just like that was in the lab."

Alex's expression could not have broadcast his skepticism any more clearly. He didn't look so much like the kid brother she remembered as like their _mother_ right now, which gave Val the guilty feeling of lying about her curfew. He scoffed, "So you think the orb made him do it? And somehow this Leviathan thing is connected to it?"

She blew out a breath. "Yeah."

He shot her a dark look. "There's something you're not telling me. How do you even know all this?"

Her heartbeat quickened, and her mouth tightened. This was exactly the question she'd been afraid of. She'd probably said too much already, but she couldn't think of another way to explain how important this orb was. "I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

Her best shot was making it seem like there was something classified going on. She folded her arms again and straightened her back. "Come on, Alex, you have to trust me."

He snorted. "So I'm supposed to trust you, but you won't trust me enough to tell me your super-secret intel? Typical."

 _Typical?_ That stung. Val flinched and drew in a breath, but she had no idea what to say. She didn't even know what she'd done in the past to make him feel that way.

He rolled his eyes toward her, eyebrows arching. "This is why people don't like the Alliance, you know."

"This isn't about the Alliance," she protested. "And you worked on the Crucible!"

"I'm not _stupid_ ," Alex said scornfully. "I wasn't going to just sit around until Cerberus or the Reapers caught up with me. No thanks."

"You said just last night you couldn't talk about your research, either."

It was a desperation ploy. Alex held her gaze for a long moment before sighing dramatically and raising his hands. "Okay, fine, I'll take a look and see if I can figure anything out." Unexpectedly, he smirked at her. "But, you know, if this thing warps my brain, you're the one who's going to have to explain to mom."

She laughed, startled, and went on her way.

#

Val spent the whole day fighting to keep focus on her day's schedule. Knowing that Alex was here, and working on the orb, gave her a sense of hope that she couldn't entirely explain. But if he could understand it, maybe it would help her find some answers. Maybe she'd have some idea what to do next: where to go, or what questions to ask next, and who to ask them. Not having a clear objective was unsettling her, making her restless and distracted during the training sessions she was supposed to be running.

She needed a _mission_. The thought flashed through her head as she locked up the biotics facility for the day, and Shepard paused with her hand over the keypad. She shook herself and finished the locking sequence.

It had become routine by now to head to the bar at the end of a work day. Maybe too routine, but tonight the lure of company and relaxation promised to calm her buzzing thoughts. Sure enough, she found James and Garrus lounging at their usual table as soon as she walked in. Val exchanged waves and picked up her drink before heading over.

"Yo, Cannonball," James said when she sat down. "How's the, you know..." He wiggled his fingers. "Throwing stuff around?"

Val stared at him. "You realize my actual name is shorter than 'Cannonball.'"

Garrus chuckled. James shrugged, grinning. Val sighed and took a drink, leaning back in her seat. "Biotics training is fine. Thanks for asking." No way was she going to say she'd been going through the motions today. Instead, she glanced at Garrus. "How are things in the turian camp?"

"Oh, you know," he said, voice flanging in a way she couldn't easily interpret. "Staving off starvation. Arguing about whether to head back to Palaven. The usual."

"You guys thinkin' about taking off before the relays come back?" James asked.

Garrus's mandibles twitched. He shrugged. "Let's just say a good number of us aren't inclined to trust in the good intentions of the Reapers."

James's smile fell away and he nodded. Val fidgeted in her seat, eyeing the uneven surface of the table. It made sense. Turians, as a rule, weren't known for trusting their former enemies. The idea of the turians leaving — and Garrus going with them — made her feel even edgier. Having him here was comforting, in a way, even if nothing about their interactions were the same as they had been.

"Mind if I join you?"

Startled by the voice, Val looked up at Alex, who stood at her elbow with a beer in one hand and a half-smile. Even though she'd met him in the bar the day before, it took her brain a moment to catch up. "Sure." They all shifted over so Alex could take the spare seat, and Val added, "This is James Vega, James, my brother Alex."

"Nice to meet you," James said.

"Likewise."

"And, um... I guess you know Garrus, right?" Of course he did; Garrus had given her the tip that led her to Alex in the first place. But it was still strange seeing him here. With only James and Garrus, she could almost pretend they were back on the _Normandy_. Alex came from another part of her life. He didn't fit here.

"Alexander," Garrus drawled.

"Vakarian," Alex replied in the same tone, reaching across the table to shake hands.

Garrus accepted the clasp, adding, "Good to see you again. Nice to know that Cerberus didn't... ah..."

"Put a bullet in my brain? Or a bunch of circuitry?" Alex grinned and took a drink. "Yeah, I'm glad about that, too."

They looked comfortable and friendly together. Maybe Alex fit better than she thought. Val slumped back into her seat, taking a drink.

James' eyes lit up. "Whoa. So you were on that Collector mission?"

"'Fraid so," Alex replied.

"Guess you knew Loco, too, huh?"

Alex tilted his head. "Loco?"

"Commander Shepard," James said, and as Alex's eyes cut to Val, he laughed and added, "You know, the other one. The man, the legend..."

"James likes nicknames," Val put in, unreasonably irritated. She should be used to people talking about John Shepard by now, but it grated every time.

Alex gave her a wry smile before he answered James. "Ah. Yeah, I knew John Shepard. Not as well as Vakarian here, the man didn't tend to become buddies with the shipside crew as much. But I knew him." His mouth turned down. "They haven't announced anything, have they?"

"Still on life support, from what I hear," Vega said, expression turning sober.

Val looked away, thinking of the burned, silent body she'd glimpsed in that hospital room. A short, stiff silence fell before Garrus cleared his throat and asked Alex what he'd been doing with himself, and Alex chuckled softly and started telling him. The conversation flowed from there. Val sat back and sipped her drink, letting them carry the conversation. They were good at it, she realized with a little wonder. She was used to James and Garrus bantering, but Alex held his own with dry jokes and the odd anecdote about lab work gone awry.

After a while, James and Alex fell into a surprisingly heated discussion of biotiball — Val hadn't known Alex cared at all about biotiball, he hadn't as a child — she leaned forward and nudged Garrus's arm.

"Garrus," she said.

"Hmm? Yeah?"

"You remember when I asked you about a man named Bryson?"

His brow plates and mandibles twitched. "Right, when we found that sphere. What about him?"

She turned her empty glass on the table, round and round, and tried to keep her tone casual. "After that, did the _Normandy_ go to a mining station? Planet called Mahavid?"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure." He glanced at James. "Hey, Jimmy, remember somewhere called Mahavid?"

Pulled out of the sports talk, James frowned. "Maha-what? No, should I?"

"It's a mining station," Shepard said. Across the table Alex was watching them with interest.

"Wait," James said. "Yeah, we made a little pit stop. Before the thing on Rannoch, remember? Some shitty little asteroid station."

Garrus tilted his head and then blinked. "Oh, right. Neither of us went down. Shepard took Liara, just to ask some questions, he said. I guess it was a dead end."

"They came back pretty quick, I think," James said. "I'd just about forgotten it."

"Okay," Val said. So he had gone to Mahavid; he'd just left it out of his official reports. "Thanks."

"Where'd you hear about this place?" Alex asked idly.

She hesitated a moment before saying, "I just came across a reference in some records." She knew it was a weak answer, but nothing else came to mind quickly enough.

"This about that shiny globe the geth had?" James asked.

"Is it?" Alex asked, looking up from her.

Under the scrutiny of that cool gaze, Val did her best to look casual. She smiled and leaned back in her seat, propping one foot up on the other knee. "Just following up some leads."

"You'll let me know if you find anything," Alex said, smearing the base of his glass through the condensation on the table.

"Yeah, of course," Val said. Tension thrummed through all her muscles, in spite of her lazy posture.

"They have you looking at it?" Garrus asked.

Alex looked up with a smirk. "I got conscripted."

"What do you think?" Val asked, a little too eagerly.

She wasn't surprised when Alex snorted and shot her a sidelong glare. "I've studied the thing for all of six hours. It doesn't have any kind of antenna or circuitry that I can detect. It's not emitting any kind of signal or radiation stronger than general background radiation. There are some odd elements in its chemical composition. There you go, the fruits of my labors for the day." He spread both hands in a dramatic gesture before slouching back in his chair.

Garrus and James both laughed. Val had to force a chuckle. She couldn't expect dramatic results right away. That wasn't realistic.

But she was a lot more keyed up about everything than she'd realized.

James said to Alex, "You know, your sister here doesn't talk about herself a whole lot."

"Doesn't she?" Alex asked, smiling a little.

James grinned. "But the _hermano_ always knows some things, right?"

Oh no. "Oh, come on," Val protested.

"Oh, I know a few things." Alex's smile sharpened.

"Yeah," James drawled, and nudged Garrus with his elbow. "I knew it. There had to be some stories."

Alex grinned and immediately launched into one. Val groaned. She recognized this one, at least; she'd been twelve and left in charge of her brothers at home while their parents were out. They hadn't managed to burn the house down, but they _had_ managed to start a grease fire that set off the smoke detector, which had triggered an automatic alarm to the nearest fire station, so an actual fire patrol had gotten to the house only minutes after Val charged out the door with the flaming pan, her brothers trailing after her like a set of nesting dolls. But—

"It was your idea to fry the potatoes," Val pointed out, over James' and Garrus's laughter. Never mind that neither she nor Alex had had the faintest idea how to deep-fry anything.

Alex's eyes crinkled. "Yeah, but I was only eight. You were in charge and you let me do it."

She made a rude gesture. James guffawed. Even Garrus was chuckling. Val tried not to feel betrayed by his obvious amusement. She bumped his arm with hers. "You're probably grateful your sister isn't here."

He looked down at where their arms touched with some surprise. Kicking herself, Val pulled back to a less familiar distance. Stupid — she was still a new acquaintance to him, not someone entitled to invade his personal space.

"You're right, I am," he said pleasantly enough.

Alex said, "And then there was the time she came home on leave for the first time..."

Oh, hell. Val squirmed while he kept going, spinning a tale where she was a proud young cadet and got roped into a feud some of her teenage friends had been having, and the story somehow involved her falling out of a tree into a muddy ditch, and using biotics to break up a fight. Alex kept shooting her little glances from time to time, though he devoted most of his attention to Garrus and James, both of whom were eating up this tale with obvious enjoyment. Val couldn't do much besides sigh and roll her eyes at the more colorful parts — she couldn't very well deny any of it had happened — and the best she could do was say, "I think you're exaggerating," once he finished.

It sounded weak, and she knew it. Garrus and James were both laughing. Alex just gave her a thin, slanted smile.


	12. Chapter 11

No matter how many times Val told herself she couldn't expect quick results, she couldn't stop herself from fidgeting. Between training sessions, she fired off a quick, casual note to Alex.

_How's it going?_

She burned off some energy by flinging herself across the training room until a reply flashed up on her omni-tool.

_It's been two fucking days._

She winced and sent: _Sorry_.

At that point, half a dozen beginner-to-middling biotics showed up for practice, and Val couldn't check her messages for an hour. Once she'd sent them back out the door, tired and chattering with each other, she found a string of new messages on her 'tool:

_If you want to see progress so badly, you can come over at the end of the day_

_There's not much to see though_

Val breathed out, reminding herself to be patient. Still, she answered: _Sure, I'll stop by._

Within a few minutes, Alex sent back: _Cool, see you then_.

So instead of making her usual walk out to the bar for drinks after locking up, Val made her way to Alex's makeshift lab at the other end of the camp, weaving her way through the assortment of other people also finishing up their work shifts and moving around the camp. The thickest crowds were near the mess hall; the lab space had been set up far enough out that people thinned out considerably. As the lab prefab came into sight, Val spotted only one human figure, a woman, headed her way. Val nodded absent-mindedly in greeting, most of her attention fixed on the lab ahead of her — she'd just check in with Alex, then they could head out for drinks or dinner together — and she stiffened, almost missing a step, as Samantha Traynor nodded back at her.

Val's eyes widened, but she missed the opportunity to speak. Traynor smiled at her blandly, without recognition, and continued on her way without missing a step. Stunned, Val stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder to stare at Traynor's retreating form. It took a moment to shake herself out of the numb, shocked feeling. She'd known the _Normandy_ crew was back, Val reminded herself. Of course she'd see the Alliance personnel around camp from time to time. Of course they wouldn't know her. It was nothing to get agitated about.

Seeing Garrus and James had become normal, as if they were part of a little bubble that included her now. The sudden appearance of another crew member was a shock to her system, reminding her that there was a whole crew of people she was missing out there.

Val heaved a deep breath, trying to exhale some of her tension, but the unsettled feeling lingered. She continued toward the lab more slowly.

The building was dim when she entered. One light shone over the orb and the workstation, casting the rest of the oblong room into shadow. Val thought that the storage crates might have been rearranged to make more space around the work area, but she couldn't be sure. Alex was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," she called. "Alex? Are you here?"

"Yeah," came a muffled voice from the back room. "Just cleaning up, I'll be out in a minute."

"I passed someone as I came over," Val said, turning to look at the orb. It lay there, simple, smooth, and utterly innocuous, but she didn't trust it: her hands curled into fists at her side.

"Yeah, they assigned me an assistant, Samantha. She just left," Alex called back, still muffled. "She's probably overqualified, but she's just coming off medical leave, so she's available."

Val nodded, even though Alex couldn't see her. Overqualified sounded about right. Samantha Traynor was one of the most adaptable and versatile professionals she'd ever had the pleasure of working with. She opened her mouth to answer, and the lights went out.

In the sudden, disorienting dark, Val started to turn toward the doorway where she'd heard Alex's voice. But only a split second passed before she felt a shock from behind, a quick spark that jolted her forward a step and seemed to run up and down her spine. Val flinched, though it was more surprising than painful, and faded quickly.

She spread out her hands, trying to steady herself. Something was wrong, besides the dark. After the shock, she felt... strangely numb. Disoriented, almost, her sense of herself and her surroundings disrupted. She had a nagging sense of _absence_ , and couldn't place the sensation at all for a moment.

Then she recognized it, and her stomach lurched. Her biotics. She'd lost all sense of them. Her head felt numb, her amp a useless piece of metal jammed into her skull.

_Trap_ , she thought. Reapers or Cerberus or —

The lights came on, and she winced, throwing up a hand to shield herself from the sudden glare. "Alex?" she called out, turning around. Her free hand clenched. She wasn't armed, her biotics were damped, but if anyone had come for her or Alex, she'd make them pay.

She squinted into the light. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Alex standing in the doorway to the short end of the L. He was aiming a heavy pistol at her.

Her gut clenched. No. Wrong trap. It had to be the orb. She'd warned Alex — she'd _told_ him to shield it. He couldn't possibly have been arrogant enough to work with it unshielded and let himself get controlled. Could he?

Looking at his face, she hesitated, uncertain. His eyes were cold, but calculating. Not vacant, or unaware.

Maybe he'd been Cerberus all along. A cold, sick queasiness oozed down her throat at the thought. Maybe he'd lied to her the whole time. It wasn't as if she could really say she knew him, brother or not.

It took only a moment for that jumble of thoughts to flash through Val's mind, while adrenalin shot through her system. Her hands curled into fists, but the dark energy she'd usually summon remained out of her reach. "Alex," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "You don't want to do this." Even unarmed, she could probably disable him if she had to. She was taller and better trained. A quick strike to get the gun out of his hand, wrench his arm around — but better, much better if she could talk him out of it.

He snorted without any humor at all. "Don't I? I think I'll be the judge of that."

She wouldn't let herself think her little brother was a Cerberus loyalist. It had to be the orb, or even indoctrination. Val tried to swallow down her sense of betrayal, but it filled her throat like tar, bitter and salty. She tried again. "Sasha."

His face contorted suddenly, and he snarled, " _Don't_. You don't get to call me that. I don't know who the hell you are, but _you are not my sister_. Who are you and where did you come from?"

Val's head spun. She stared at Alex while her ears buzzed, realizing she had it entirely backwards. There wasn't anything wrong with _him_.

He'd realized there was something wrong with _her_.

She rocked back on her feet. Her hands went slack, and the burning rage in her throat turned to nausea.

"Was it Cerberus?" Alex demanded. "Some kind of clone? But why _her_? Why my sister?"

"It's not what you think," she said. Her lips felt stiff, as if she were operating them remotely.

"Then what is it?" Alex snapped. The pistol in his hand didn't waver. "Start talking, whoever you are."

Val raised her hands slowly, watching his eyes narrow. Her mind frantically sought for some kind of reasonable explanation, and came up empty. "I promise, I'm your sister. Nobody sent me. I'm just... me."

"You're lying."

"I'm not, I promise," Val said desperately. "Ask me anything you want."

"What did you get me for my twenty-first birthday?"

Shit. She'd been hoping he would go for early childhood. Val bit her lip, racking her mind for something plausible. "A... a book."

"Wrong." His lip curled. "We haven't exchanged birthday presents since I was seventeen."

_Fuck_. "It was a long time ago," she protested, knowing it sounded weak. "I forgot which birthday."

"Just stop trying to lie and tell me who you really are," he said, implacable.

Val shook her head, her heart thudding. "I'm really Val Shepard."

" _Stop it_." His hand twitched.

"You used to help me with all my math and science homework," Val blurted out, her eyes on the gun. "I begged you to help me cram precalc."

Alex froze, eyes sharp with suspicion. "It wouldn't be hard to find that out," he said after a moment.

"We stayed up all night," she went on. "You complained the whole time, and I offered to write your social studies essay for you, and you said you'd do better on your own. You made me do your chores for a week instead." That had included cleaning out the boys' room at the end of the week, which was a huge pain — Misha tended to carry in bits of plants or muddy rocks or birds' nests he was interested in, and Ivan never put anything away (all right, he'd been six at the time, to be fair), so there were toys _everywhere_.

He stared at her. "How did you know that?"

The back of Val's skull tingled. Her biotics were coming back, as whatever damping field he'd activated wore off. She kept talking, trying to buy time... for what, exactly, she hadn't figured out yet. She didn't want to hurt him. He was at least half right, after all, and she didn't want to hurt him. Maybe a quick charge would knock him over, or maybe she could biotically yank the gun away and then run. "I told you, I really am your sister. I remember when you were six, you had a crush on Liliana Sandoval and you made me promise not to tell Mama. You pitched a fit when Misha was born and cried because you weren't the only little brother any more."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I don't even remember that," he said coldly. "Where did you get that one? Have you been pumping Mama for information?"

Val shook her head frantically. "No. No, I swear. It's really me."

"When did you stop calling me Sasha?" he asked abruptly.

She stared back at him. This had to be a trick question. "Never. I've always called you Sasha, no matter what you say."

His mouth tightened. "You didn't remember Talitha."

"I just forgot for a moment," she said. Her hands were shaking. Her biotics were live again, she was sure of it; she could probably charge into him, grab the gun —

"Do you remember Misha's girlfriend Zoe?"

"Of course," Val said without blinking.

"Wrong answer," Alex snapped. "Misha's gay, he's never had a girlfriend. None of this makes any sense."

_Misha's gay?_ some tiny, absurd part of her mind thought. She pushed it aside. Priorities. One last chance to persuade him. "Come on, Alex," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Put the damned gun down."

"Like hell," he said.

She'd been gathering herself to move, but before she could do anything, another shock hit her. Numbness spread from her amp port down her spine. Val stumbled forward a step in surprise. "What—"

Alex hadn't moved. A thin smile spread across his lips as he watched her. "Did you really think I was dumb enough to take on a biotic without backup?"

Val froze. The space between her shoulder blades prickled. Alex's smile widened. It wasn't a pleasant one. "You can turn around, if you like," he said.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. Keeping her hands up, she turned slowly, planting each foot deliberately.

Garrus stood behind her, by the entrance to the lab. He looked dark and imposing in his full armor, his omni-tool active. He said, "You know a lot of details that you shouldn't have access to."

"And you don't know a good number of things that you ought to know," Alex added, behind her.

The floor might have fallen out from under Val's feet. Her breath was coming too quickly, leaving her shaky and lightheaded. Her shoulders slumped as she realized: "You've been comparing notes."

"Stop wasting time and start explaining," Alex said.

It figured, didn't it, that two of the people she'd loved best in the world would see through her. Alex had always understood her. So had Garrus. She couldn't fight her way out of this, not now. If it were Alex alone, she might have been able to disable him, though she had no real idea what he was capable of. But she wasn't a match for both of them, not together. Not without one or more of them getting seriously hurt. And even if she did manage to overcome them both, then what? Run away? Try to claim to the Alliance — and the Hierarchy — that they were the ones who'd lost their minds? Why would anyone believe her?

She was out of options, except for one.

Val took a breath and dropped her arms. All the will to fight had drained out of her; it was an effort to stay on her feet. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"Try us," Alex said.

She laughed, pressing a hand to her head. "Hell, maybe I am crazy. Maybe someone should lock me up or put me down. I don't know. Can I sit down?"

Garrus glanced past her to catch Alex's eye.

They let her sit in an office chair. It was a little too short for her, forcing her knees to bend sharply, but Val didn't complain. She let them bind her hands behind the back of the chair. It was better than the shock of the damping field that disabled her biotics, a lot better than feeling that shock over and over.

"Start talking," Alex told her.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to find a tolerably comfortable position, and settled for keeping her shoulders back and her chin up. "I'm Commander Shepard," she said. Something inside her unfolded as she said it, almost relaxed. At least she could tell her truth now, as she knew it. They could do whatever they wanted with that.

"We're aware of your claimed rank and name," Garrus said dryly.

"No, I mean I'm..." Val took a breath. "I woke up in that hospital. They said I'd been evac'ed after London. But I remember everything differently. As far as I remember, I was the commander of the _Normandy_. I led the charge on Earth. Through the whole war, really." It wasn't exactly a good memory, but the recollection stretched her lips out in a smile anyway. "The point of the spear, Hackett said."

Garrus's mandibles twitched. Alex just stared at her.

Val kept talking, increasingly relieved as she let it all out. "I'm humanity's first Spectre. I found the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime. My crew tracked down Saren, we found the Mu relay, we chased him to the Citadel and killed him. I..." She still didn't like saying it, even after all this time. "... died, and Cerberus brought me back to chase the Collectors. We went through the Omega-Four relay and came back." She kept her eyes on Garrus. Part of her, deep down inside, half-hoped he'd chuckle and say she was right, that this was all a test or a game. A really bad game, but that was still better than the alternative. "I made a mistake, going solo on Aratoht, and blew up the Alpha Relay. That's what I remember, anyway. My memories—" She took a breath and tried her best to stretch her arms behind her back. "They don't match up with what everyone else remembers. I don't know why. Maybe I'm delusional, but I don't see how that could be." Her gaze flicked to Alex. "You're smarter than I am, maybe you can figure it out."

The two men blinked at her in silence. Then Garrus said, in flat tones, "So you say you commanded the _Normandy_. And you know me? We worked closely together?"

His words felt like a blow. Closely, yes. Always at her side, at her back, or in her bed. She nodded, licking her lips. "Yeah."

Garrus glanced at his omni-tool. Val could just see the glimmer of data scrolling across her visor. "Then I have some questions."

They interrogated her for a long time. She lost track of how long. Her mouth grew dry with talking. Her throat thickened and turned scratchy, until she coughed and had to swallow. She didn't ask for water, and they didn't offer.

Garrus asked most of the questions: details on her career, missions, crew members, places they'd gone, her interactions with Saren and the Council and the Illusive Man. He was precise, neutral, giving nothing away. She felt as if she'd been hauled in by C-Sec. Alex mostly watched, eyes cold and flinty, though he threw in some questions about Mordin and his research and the Collector ship.

Once she'd gone over the _Normandy_ 's missions, from start to finish, silence fell. Garrus and Alex looked at each other. Without a word, Alex turned and disappeared into the back room. Val leaned back in the chair as best she could, stretching her legs out in front of her to ease the ache in her knees, and watched Garrus. He looked back at her, face still, mandibles held close to his jaw.

Alex returned with a glass of water and held it to her lips. He tipped it a little too far; water dribbled out of the corners of her mouth. Val drank gratefully anyway, swallowing as much as she could. The water was cool and a little flat. It might be drugged, she realized suddenly, but she was thirsty enough that she wasn't sure she cared.

Alex said, "So where were we during all of this? You haven't mentioned our family once."

In spite of the water she'd just drunk, Val's mouth felt dry again. She swallowed and pressed her lips together, conscious of Alex's waiting gaze. "My family died," she said at last.

Alex's eyebrows went up. "What?"

"That's... the way I remember it, anyway." She glanced to the side, not wanting to see the look on his face. "Slavers attacked Mindoir when I was sixteen. The whole colony was massacred."

"But you survived," Alex said in disbelief.

"Yes." Her eyes flicked to meet his for a second. "I'd been out for a run, out in the fields. I came back when I saw smoke, but it was too late. I couldn't help anyone. The Alliance showed up to relieve the colony and picked me up. I spent the next two years in foster care, before I started at the Alliance Academy." She licked her lips again, trying in vain to make her mouth wetter. "That's when my biotics manifested. During the attack."

Alex said, still staring, "Your biotics manifested when you pushed Ivan out of the way of a runaway grain transport. You were seventeen. The Alliance wouldn't fucking stop calling after that."

Val blinked. Her tongue pressed against her cheek while she tried to think of something to say. Finally, she said, "That's not how I remember it."

Alex sneered at her. "So either you're a liar, some kind of clone or plant who knows way too much, or you're so delusional that you wrote us out of your world altogether. How nice of you."

"It's not like that," she protested, but guilt wormed its way into her mind anyway. It _was_ like that if she were delusional, wasn't it? At least a little bit.

"That aside," Garrus said, "she knows too much. A lot of the details are wrong, but the broad outlines of the missions are right. The Collector mission, Alex, you know most of that never made the press."

"What details?" Val asked before she could stop herself. She'd already heard different versions of some events from Garrus and James. What else was wrong about her memories?

Neither of them answered her. Alex's mouth twisted up. "Yeah," he said grudgingly.

"Hell, I'm not sure Shepard included all of that in his report to the Alliance."

"She could have gotten it from other crew members," Alex said.

"Who, exactly?" Garrus asked. "And that theory assumes she went and tracked down crew in the middle of a war, _and_ hacked into classified Alliance records to build this story."

They both looked at her. Val shrugged as best she could and put on a smile. "I'm a shit hacker. Ask anyone. You and Tali do most of the hacking."

Garrus's mandibles flexed. Not looking away from her, he said, "Are you going to test that?"

"Might as well, I suppose," Alex said, walking away with the glass in his hand.

"Oh," Val said. "DNA sample. Smart."

"Fuck off," Alex called back.

Garrus sighed. "You realize none of this adds up."

She tried for another shrug. Her shoulders hurt. "Yeah. I know." It was ridiculous, considering she was sitting here tied to a chair, but it still felt like a weight off her back to have told someone what she remembered.

Garrus regarded her with his head tilted. "You're different like this."

"Different how?" She looked up into his pale, searching eyes. She hadn't said anything about their relationship. It was too incongruous, to look at him and see so little recognition in his eyes. She couldn't bear to tell him that truth and see him surprised, or worse, repulsed.

His head tilted further to the side, as he sized her up. "You're almost relaxed."

She laughed, an unexpected burst. "I'm not hiding now."

"No." He drew back a step, gaze still fixed on her. "What do you make of all this?"

"I don't know." She tried to adjust her shoulders. "I wondered if it had something to do with the Catalyst, but I don't know." She was tired enough that the whole event was starting to seem dream-like.

Garrus's gaze sharpened. "What catalyst?"

She moistened her lips. They hadn't asked any questions about this before. "When I got to the Citadel, I... okay, a bunch of stuff happened, but I ended up talking to this thing that called itself the Catalyst. Some kind of AI. It presented itself as the hologram of a child."

"What child?"

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Some kid I'd seen back on Earth, right before the Reaper attack. But whatever it was, it told me I had choices. I could try to control the Reapers, or destroy them, or merge organics and synthetics somehow."

"So that's what you meant, about making a choice," Garrus said softly.

She nodded. "Yeah. I guess I slipped then, huh?" Stupid. She'd known it was a mistake at the time. She'd just hoped that Garrus would forget. _There_ was her real mistake. Garrus didn't forget things like that, details out of place. Looking back, it was no wonder they'd caught her.

"What did you choose?" he asked.

Val took a breath. It hurt to remember that night; her lungs felt compressed and her skin itched with the memory of fire. "I thought I was going to destroy them."

"Do you think Shepard —" His mandibles flickered. "— our Shepard — made the wrong choice?"

The question hung in the air between them while Val hesitated.

Alex stalked back across the room toward them. "The DNA checks out."

"Huh." Garrus crossed his arms over his chest. "If she's telling the truth..."

"She could still be delusional." Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at her.

"I don't see how," Garrus said. "A clone, maybe?"

Alex shook his head sharply. "Implanted memories aren't that advanced, even with tank-imprinting processes."

"Cerberus cloned Shepard," Garrus said.

"I figured," Alex said. "Still. They would have started with a memory scan from a cryogenically preserved brain. That's a much better starting point. This level of invention and manipulation of stored memories, I don't think even Cerberus is capable of that."

"Are you going to leave me tied up much longer?" Val asked. It was worth a shot; she'd cooperated so far, and it seemed like Garrus might be starting to believe her.

"Do you think an asari could do it?" Garrus asked Alex.

Alex made a face. "The asari tend to be a little close-mouthed about the extent of their biotic abilities when it comes to the neurological matters. We know they can scramble their own DNA as part of their reproductive process, but it's not clear whether they can manipulate neurons or memory. And no, we can't very well leave you tied up. Someone will notice you're missing. I already had to tell Mama you and I were having dinner somewhere else."

"But if she's telling the truth," Garrus went on, "the memories she describes will be in there. And in particular, if she's telling the truth about Feros, she's got the Cipher. No one but Shepard has that."

"The Cipher?" Alex asked.

"The Prothean Cipher. It lets Shepard interpret Prothean data."

"Huh," Alex said. "Right." They both looked at her speculatively, almost clinically. Val felt pinned under their gazes.

"Well, A skilled asari could check for that," Alex said.

"We could ask Liara," Garrus said.

Val drew in a sharp breath, remembering Liara storming toward John Shepard's room in a cloud of fury. With whatever Liara had with John, with Liara and Val's own past, she wasn't sure that was a good idea. "What about Javik?" she suggested.

"Who?" Garrus said.

Val flinched. "You don't know Javik?"

Garrus shook his head. "I'd prefer Samara," he said to Alex, "but she's gone now. Liara already knows all the relevant details."

Alex shrugged. "You trust T'soni, that's fine."

"Don't you think she's too close to Sh... to John?" Val asked hastily, as Garrus stepped behind her to unlock the cuffs.

Garrus paused, and he and Alex exchanged glances. "That could be an issue," Garrus allowed. "Got any alternatives?"

"I don't have any other asari friends," Alex said.

"Liara it is," Garrus said.

With a click, the cuffs opened. Garrus took hold of Val's upper arm and pulled her upright. She winced as her knees unfolded and her shoulders stretched. When Garrus nudged her, she took a step forward. Her eyes widened as she realized their intent. "You want to go see Liara now?"

"No time like the present," Alex said darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say I don't expect to update for about two weeks this time. I have a bit of travel coming up, and I need to do quite a bit of writing and planning for the next chunk of the story. :) Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 12

"So where are we going?" Val asked.

"Liara has a place in town," Garrus said. He'd commandeered a groundcar — one that had the Hierarchy symbol painted on the door. The instrument readouts were all in turian, too. Val slouched in the back seat, planting her hands on either side of her to brace for the car's jolts.

"Near the hospital?" she asked.

"Yeah," Garrus said after a moment.

Val pressed her lips together. Of course Liara would want to be close to John Shepard. Remembering Liara's thunderous approach to John's room just made Val uneasy, though. Taking a risk, she asked, "They were involved, weren't they?"

Alex glanced back at her from the front passenger seat. "Does it matter?"

It shouldn't matter, probably. Liara was still Liara, wasn't she? But Val couldn't shake an anxious feeling, a sense that Liara was too close to the other Shepard. She shrugged, and replied to Alex, "I hope it doesn't."

"You seem awfully reluctant to go through with this." Alex's eyes narrowed.

Val's heart jumped into her throat. She held up her hands. "Hey, I'm cooperating." She didn't have much choice but to accompany them, but there were no cuffs, and no damping field. She didn't want to jeopardize the fragile trust she'd won, and if she had to do this, she'd rather do it free to move and use her own biotics if she had to.

Besides, even through her unease, she wanted to know. Would an asari like Liara be able to tell if her memories were real, or false somehow, or just delusions? _Did_ she have the Cipher, the keystone to interpreting Prothean language? She didn't have any Prothean inscriptions handy to test herself on. She started bouncing her knee nervously up and down.

If it was real — if what she remembered was real, in a way someone else could see, too, then that turned everything around. Val still wasn't sure what she'd have to do about that information, but somehow, it felt important to know.

Alex kept watching her sharply before giving her a short nod and turning to face forward.

It had grown dark outside. Normally, at this hour, Val would be making her way back from the bar to her quarters. By now she knew the footpath well enough that she didn't lose her way, every twist and bump familiar. But she'd only traveled this road back to the main colony once, and that time in the opposite direction. She looked out the window as the car bounced in the rutted, muddy road, but there wasn't much to see. The scattered lights of the colony were all ahead of them. To the side, dark ground blended into dark sky, leaving an impression of open, empty space, but nothing more.

"Can you see Trebia from here?" she asked abruptly.

"What?" said Alex.

Garrus answered, "Not at this hour."

"What do you care?" Alex demanded.

"I care about a lot of things," Val fired back, and slouched further into her seat. She sounded ridiculous, didn't she?

Garrus chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Alex asked, sounding irritated.

"You sure sound like brother and sister, at least," Garrus said.

Alex made a noise in his throat and subsided into silence. Val would have wagered a substantial sum of credits that he was pouting. She could imagine the sullen, clenched-jawed expression exactly. She bit her lip to keep from snickering.

Her urge to laugh soon faded, though. As the lights of the colony grew brighter, and the road smoothed out underneath, Val found herself tensing. Her knee vibrated, her shoulders locked up, and she couldn't seem to figure out what to do with her hands: first she folded them on her lap, then she tucked them under her thighs to keep them still, then she crossed her arms and dug her fingertips into her arms. She didn't know, herself, whether her memories were truth or imagined, but in the next half hour, she'd know.

She hoped.

When the car stopped, all too soon, Val followed Garrus and Alex silently.

Liara herself answered the door at Garrus' knock. In the sudden light from her doorway, she looked dark and drawn, violet circles under her eyes and her mouth turned down. The mark across her forehead had healed a little. "Garrus," she said in some surprise. "What brings you here?"

"A favor," Garrus said casually, as if the past few hours had been easy.

Liara's lips tightened. "What sort of favor?" Her eyes flicked past him. "And who are these humans?"

Her tone was clipped, almost hostile. Val flinched, startled to hear gentle, cosmopolitan Liara react that way. Neither of the men showed any reaction. Garrus said, "This is Alex Shepard, he was on the _Normandy_ with us—"

Liara's expression relaxed. "Oh, yes. I remember. You were part of John's crew."

"Science team," Alex said. "I'm sorry for what happened to him."

Liara's face tightened again, her normally soft oval face seeming almost hard and angular. "Thank you," she said, so brusquely that Alex stiffened.

Garrus simply continued, "And his sister, Lieutenant Commander Val Shepard."

Some perverse impulse pushed Val to say, "Staff Commander."

Garrus glanced back at her. "She's actually the reason we're here. Could we come in?"

Liara's eyes traveled slowly over each of them in turn. She pursed her lips. "I suppose so. For a little while."

Val expected, as she followed the others through the door, to step into something that looked like Liara's old office on the _Normandy_ : screens and workstations, her VI drone, maybe a couple of seats, although Liara herself usually worked standing. Instead, the space looked like a waiting room for a particularly dreary doctor's office. One lamp and a handful of narrow chairs, none of which looked comfortable; that was all. Maybe the room was meant to discourage visitors; if so, it succeeded, since Val immediately felt put off, as if her presence wasn't wanted.

Liara waved her hand carelessly toward one of the chairs, though, and Val sat, uneasily, forced to hold herself ramrod straight by the chair's stiff back. Garrus took another, practically perching on the edge of it, since none of them seemed sized for a turian. Alex, after a glance at the other options, leaned against the wall instead, arms folded.

Garrus explained, "We have a bit of a situation here involving the commander."

Alex interrupted: "My sister here claims to remember things that never happened, doesn't remember things that did, and knows about events she was never part of. We're trying to figure out if she's an impostor or a clone or a plant or completely delusional. We were hoping an asari could tell if her memories are real."

Liara looked at Val, rather as if Val were something she had dug up and was now examining under a microscope. "What kind of memories?"

Garrus hesitated for a split second, so Val seized the moment. She might as well commit herself, if they were going to do this. "Alex summed it up pretty well. I remember myself as leading events, and that... didn't happen."

"Are you certain that they didn't happen?" Liara asked coolly.

"No," Val said, looking her in the eye. "They happened for me. But it's impossible that they did, and everyone else remembers things differently."

Liara held her gaze without blinking, her blue eyes steady, even hard. She said, "This sounds like a job for a human psychiatrist."

Liara might be right. The thought had occurred to Val, too, but she recoiled at the thought of being hospitalized or medicated, well-meant treatment leeching away the brighter memories of that other life. She shrugged, though, unwilling to betray how much that thought terrified her.

Garrus cleared his throat and said, "We're not sure of that."

"Hmm," Liara said, her brows twitching. "So you want me to meld with a perfect stranger in order to determine... what, exactly?"

"Whether there's any truth to what she says," Garrus replied. "Whether they're real memories. I know it's a lot to ask."

"It is," Liara said evenly.

"I'll owe you," Garrus offered.

"I'll collect." Liara took a seat on the remaining chair, gracefully, turning it to face Val. "Very well. Let's see what we can. Open your mind to me, Commander."

Val let out a breath, trying to relax and remain receptive. She remembered from experience that it was easier that way. The meld was intense enough to begin with, but the first time or two, when she wasn't prepared for it, had been much more difficult: borderline painful for herself, and exhausting for Liara. So Val closed her eyes and reached as best she could for the kind of open, meditative mental state that made a meld like this work better.

She felt Liara's intrusion almost immediately. Her consciousness could sense _presence_ , could tell that it was not alone. Val had been used to Liara's presence in her mind by now; on the first _Normandy,_ they'd melded for erotic play, for a more platonic kind of intimacy, as well as for information gathering. They hadn't resumed the habit with their relationship over, but that last, brief moment of sharing before the final battle had still been comfortable, a moment of warmth and friendship.

But this felt different. In their earliest encounters, back on the first _Normandy_ , Liara had been gentle and hesitant, cautious of digging too deeply. She'd confined herself to seeking out the visions Shepard had gained from the Prothean beacon, and even then she'd moved carefully, even diffidently, working so hard to control the contact that she'd nearly fainted afterward from the effort.

Now, Liara's touch felt brisk and efficient, as if Val's memories were a filing cabinet that Liara was simply rifling through, more deftly than gently. Val flinched inside her skull as remembered images crackled through her mind — the sun and the sound of waves on Virmire, the stench of the Collector base, the scream of a banshee at the frozen monastery on Lesuss. She stiffened, reflexively trying to pull away, but the physical distance did no good; Liara continued pressing, remorseless and thorough. Val braced herself, her breath coming hard. She was determined to endure this if it would get her to the truth.

She saw Shiala's green face, her eyes going dark as she forced the Prothean cipher into Val's mind. She heard the rumbling voice of Sovereign, the rattling buzz of the seeker swarms, Harbinger's booming taunts. She saw Saren's body contort, his cybernetic implants flensing the flesh from his bones, leaving him a construct.

Liara's touch dug further, into the private recesses of Val's memories. She saw herself with Garrus, laughing as she ran her fingers down his chest and he slid his through her hair. Herself with Liara, pale skin on blue.

The shock of that last image stuttered through Val's mind, outrage echoing around her consciousness. Indignation lit like a fire, pressing in; Val pushed back against the probe, instinctively. The rush of memories pooled, warped, twisted, flowed back into itself as she pressed ahead, and she saw —

Not herself and Liara, but Liara and _him_. John Shepard. Liara in white, him in Alliance blue, but embracing, entwined, curled together on a couch. Shepard's cabin swam around them, familiar as the inside of Val's own head; she recognized the blue glow of the fish tank, the glitter of lights reflecting off the model ships in their glass cases, the Cerberus-provided sleek modern furniture, the silver sphere gleaming on the table, the sound of Liara's laugh, warm and sweet and intimate. Val's head filled with these unfamiliar memories, where she was an intruder. Even a voyeur, she realized with a hot flash of shame. She didn't belong here.

The room seemed to twist and close around her, and Val jerked, thrown out, the door to Liara's memories slammed in her face. Liara's anger at Val's inadvertent intrusion pulsed inside her skull. Not her own indignation and outrage, Val realized, not ever; it had been Liara's emotion that had twisted the meld, opening up a conduit for Val to pry into Liara's own private memories. Now Val floated among her jumbled memories, bewildered by the rush and the echoing silence until she realized that she was alone in her own mind again. Gradually she became aware of her body: how her neck and shoulders ached, and how the seat of her chair was hard under her ass. With her eyes still closed, dread pulsed through her. That had _not_ gone well.

When Val forced her eyelids open, Liara was staring at her with eyes like ice.

"What is this?" Liara snapped.

"What," Val croaked. Her throat felt dry and stiff, her mind still reeling from the tumult of the meld. The room around her felt too warm and too close. She swayed on her chair in a moment of vertigo.

"Is this some kind of game?" Liara demanded, turning to Garrus. "What was I supposed to find here?"

"What did you find?" Garrus asked after a moment.

Liara rose to her feet in one swift movement. Val envied her; she wasn't sure she could stand without assistance, herself. "Nothing," Liara snapped. "Nothing except the pathetic fantasies of a person who has not achieved nearly as much as she expected."

Val winced, her shoulders hunching. But that wasn't right. She'd seen them all over again in her own mind, while Liara pawed through her memories. She remembered getting the Cipher. She remembered using it, when they'd found Javik, and remembered Liara's surprise that Val could read Prothean data so easily.

"You're sure?" Garrus asked.

"Positive." Liara pressed a hand to her head. "Now if you'll please excuse yourself, I need to rest."

"Of course." Garrus stood. Alex pushed himself away from the wall, frowning.

Val had to think about it to make her legs work. Her knees wobbled as she straightened them. For a sickening moment, the room danced around her.

To her surprise, Alex appeared at her elbow and put a steadying hand on her arm. Grateful for the support, Val didn't ask questions as he escorted her out of Liara's house behind Garrus. Her mind was still whirling as she tried to piece together what had happened and why.

Once she'd settled back into the rear seat of Garrus's car, she blurted out, "That wasn't right, you know that, don't you?"

In the front seats, Garrus and Alex exchanged glances. Val wished desperately that she could see their faces more clearly. Alex's paler skin and tight jaw stood out even in the dim light from the nearby buildings, but Garrus's face was a landscape of shadows, his eye nothing but a bright pinpoint in his profile. She couldn't make out what he was thinking at all.

"She's lying," she insisted, her voice coming out shaky. "I don't know why, exactly, but she's lying." She'd been afraid it was a bad idea from the first, that Liara's closeness to John Shepard would make her reluctant to see the truth. It had felt even worse than she feared, though. And Liara — she knew this wasn't _her_ Liara, not really — this Liara was an utter stranger to Val, as she'd made abundantly clear. But the knowledge that Liara would treat even a stranger that ruthlessly, that she would lie about what she'd seen in Val's mind — that hurt.

"She reacted awfully strongly to whatever she saw," Alex said.

"Yeah," Garrus agreed. There was a heavy, grating note in his subharmonics that Val wasn't sure how to process.

"You know T'soni better than me. Do you think her reactions were off?" Alex asked.

Garrus was silent for a long moment. Val swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sense of nausea as her head spun. "Maybe," he said finally, and glanced over his shoulder toward Val. "What did you see?"

She shrugged, hunching in the seat of the car. "I don't... it was like she was just searching through my memories at first. But I think maybe she was most interested in the places where I was — where I did what your Shepard did. Saren, the Collectors. And she..." She stopped and moistened her lips, trying to find the words to go on. "I think she reacted to seeing herself and me together."

Alex twisted around to stare into the back seat. "You didn't mention that was part of your... story."

Val shrugged again, curling in on herself. "It seemed a little personal." Maybe she should have told them from the first, but, as vulnerable as she'd been, she'd resisted opening up the most private parts of her life. Missions, they could hear about: her friendships, her lovers, her private conversations? Those, she'd held back.

"It might have helped to hear that," Garrus said sharply. "Unless you're just inventing a convenient excuse now." He hit the ignition, and the car started with a jerk.

"I'm not," Val protested. "Things had ended, but she and I were in a relationship once. I... I think I accidentally saw her memories, once she got upset. I saw her and... John Shepard together." She flinched, remembering Liara's rage as Val glimpsed the private moment.

"Together together?" Alex's face screwed up.

"That's when she pushed me out, and broke the meld," Val said. _Not gently_ , she didn't add, though she assumed it was obvious from her reaction.

Garrus made a rumbling noise in his throat, and eased the car out of its parking spot. For several minutes, he drove in silence. Val pressed her hands to either side of her aching head, hoping the aftereffects of the disastrous meld would fade soon.

The silence was broken when Alex said sourly, "So that was a waste of time."

"Unless you think Liara was lying," Garrus said.

Alex grumbled. "We're still left with at least two plausible alternatives. Either Fake Sister back there is lying—"

"Hey," Val said, in a flash of anger. She'd tried to prove herself, to do what they wanted, and all she'd gotten from it was a splitting headache.

Alex ignored her objection. "— and T'soni just didn't like what she saw there, or she's telling the truth, and your friend T'soni lied, which raises the question of why she would do that. She's supposed to be an information broker, right? Her reputation was always as an honest dealer, I thought."

"Mmm," Garrus said.

"What are you thinking?" Alex asked. "That she didn't like seeing her beloved Shepard replaced by someone else, or she didn't like to see herself starring in someone's fantasies?"

"It's not like that," Val muttered.

"Could be," Garrus said. "Or you're right, and she just didn't like whatever she saw. She did say 'fantasies.'"

Val shook her head and regretted it immediately, as the movement made her skull throb more. She was too stubborn to give up, though. "She had to say something you'd find plausible."

Alex groaned and slouched into his seat. "This is pointless. Any other way of verifying what she's saying?"

"The Cipher," said Val after a moment, grasping at anything that might convince them. "You said it yourself, Garrus. Shepard — I — got the Cipher on Feros, and nobody else is supposed to have it." The memories that Liara had stirred up felt more vivid now, raw and tender, but sharp in her mind's eye. Val could see Shiala's face so clearly.

"I don't have any Prothean artifacts handy," Garrus said dryly. "Anyone else have any?"

Val bit her lip. Artifacts like that weren't common commodities, after all.

"Most of them got scooped up by the Crucible team," Alex said. "Guess I should have nicked some."

"Alex!" she said sharply, shocked.

He turned around and pointed a finger at her. "You'd be glad right now if I had, so don't lecture me. And besides, you still don't get to talk to me like you're my sister."

Val glared at him, but subsided.

"We could ask another asari, maybe," Garrus said slowly. "I can ask around."

"Meanwhile we have to let her go free," Alex grumbled.

"What exactly are you worried I'm going to do?" Val asked, staring out the window. The colony's lights were fading behind them, leaving them in dark, empty landscape again. She frowned, recalling the scene in Shepard's cabin. Liara and John Shepard together, on the couch, and there was something about the light...

"Who knows?" Alex said. "You could sabotage something, steal classified files, assassinate Alliance leadership..."

Val didn't answer. She closed her eyes, attempting to call the image back to mind. The fish tank. Blue glow. The ship models, silver and black and white, and —

The sphere. A sphere. Silver. Not the small one, the curious Prothean thing she'd picked up on a mission once upon a time. A larger one. About the size of a human head. Familiar, because she'd seen one recently.

Her eyes shot open. "Oh no."

"What?" Garrus and Alex said simultaneously.

"The orb. We have to go back, she might still have it."

Alex peered back at her. "What orb?"

"Like the one in your lab," Val said urgently. "Liara had — or Shepard had — one like it. Liara might have it still. Garrus, it was in his cabin, did you ever see it?"

"I don't recall. But I wasn't in Shepard's cabin that often."

Right. Val ground her teeth. He'd practically lived in _her_ cabin, but that was different.

"So wait," Alex said. "You think whatever controls minds through these orbs — according to you — might be controlling T'soni, and that's why she's lying, again according to you?"

Val winced. Put that way, it sounded both weak and desperate. "We have to go back and see if she has it," she insisted, hoping she could persuade them through sheer force of will.

"We are not breaking into Liara's house tonight," Garrus said.

"But we have to —"

"In fact," he said, his voice growing louder and firmer, "you aren't going to do anything. We —" The tone of his voice made clear that _we_ did not include her. "— are taking you back to your quarters, and we will decide what to do next, not you."

Val started to object again, but fell silent as Garrus shot a hard look over his shoulder in her direction. Fine. She was exhausted and hurting anyway. Let them come up with their next steps, and maybe by morning she'd have thought of a way to persuade them.


	14. Chapter 13

For a moment, when Val Shepard woke up, she thought the whole night might have been a dream. Getting caught. Spilling out her story, Liara. All of it.

Then she moved, and her headache flared. It felt like there was scrap metal rattling around inside her skull, sharp and heavy. Sitting up as carefully as she could, she pressed her hands to either side of her head. The pressure eased the tension a little, but a deep ache remained, throbbing through her sinuses and down the back of her neck. Opening her eyes, she could see the greenish bruises on her wrists, already faded, but still present, silent testimony to the time she'd spent cuffed the night before.

Resting her head in her hands, Val took several deep breaths and considered her options. She could go to the brass. Coats would listen to her, she was fairly sure. She could tell him an edited version of what had happened. If he believed her, she could get Alex thrown out of camp only days after he'd arrived. Accusing Garrus might even crimp relations between the Alliance and the Hierarchy.

On the other hand, if Coats didn't believe her, he could send her to lockup, or a psychiatric ward. Neither option sounded desirable.

She couldn't even blame either Alex or Garrus for what she'd done. If she had reason to suspect that someone she knew was a Cerberus plant, or indoctrinated, or worse, she'd have done the same.

 _What would Commander Shepard do?_ Val asked herself, and laughed, soundlessly. She might be Commander Shepard, all right, but with no one to command, that didn't do her much good.

She took an aspirin for the headache, and rolled her sleeves down over her bruised wrists before she left her quarters.

Mama's eagle eye didn't miss much, though; she greeted Val at breakfast with "What's the matter? You look awful."

"Good morning to you, too, Mama," Val sighed.

"I mean it!" Mama leaned closer and took hold of Val's chin, tipping it toward herself for a better look. "Are you eating right?"

"Mama!" Val jerked her head away in irritation. "You know what I eat. I eat most of my meals with you. I just didn't sleep that well." A lie, if only a partial one. Once Val had fallen asleep, she'd slept deep and dreamless, wrung out by exhaustion. It just hadn't been enough sleep after last night's ordeals.

"Oh." Mama settled back in her seat with a frown and tucked into her breakfast. "You know, there are good counselors around if you need it."

 _It's not PTSD_ , Val wanted to say. Instead she said, "I know, Mama," and shoved a forkful of reconstituted eggs into her mouth. Missing dinner the night before had made her ravenous, so she'd loaded up her plate as much as she could.

Her mother sniffed but let it drop, and they ate in silence, surrounded by the clatter of utensils and other people's conversation, until Mama said brightly, "There you are! Good morning, Sasha!"

Val stiffened and looked up warily at Alex, who took the seat next to Mama. "G'morning, Mama. Val."

"Good morning," she answered. Alex looked almost as bad as she did, pale and tight-lipped, with dark circles bruise-like under his eyes. His gaze met hers for a second, and he nodded quickly before looking away.

"That's not a real breakfast," Mama said. Val glanced at Alex's tray, which contained a mug of coffee and a bowl of what the Alliance claimed was oatmeal and nothing else.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Alex picked up the mug and drained half of it.

Mama sniffed again and muttered something in Russian. Alex seemed disinclined to talk, so Val decided she was better off ignoring both of them and went back to eating as quickly as she could.

As the three of them sat, in a silence that now felt stiff and awkward, a commotion erupted, a clamor of raised voices near the entrance to the mess hall. All around the room, heads turned toward the noise, a ripple of movement and murmured confusion passing down the long tables like a wave.

"The relays are back!" someone shouted, and the whole room erupted.

"What?" a few people shouted back. Others were exclaiming in jubilation, hugging or slapping each other on the back. A couple people, here and there, had burst into tears. Other people seemed to be arguing, waving their hands and bending toward each other.

"How?" someone demanded, and someone else shouted back: "The Reapers! They fixed them."

That dampened the excitement, but only a little bit. A few more people started crying, and several of the arguments got louder.

Val stared toward the entrance in shock. She felt frozen in place; it took her a moment to realize that she was still gripping her fork in one hand, the metal hard against her palm. Across the table, Alex stared back at her, equally stunned, wariness and suspicion driven out by surprise. For one second they seemed to be on the same page.

Val's omni-tool was pinging, she realized. Across the table, Mama was frowning at her own omni-tool, her fingers rapidly scrolling through her messages. Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, Val checked her own.

The new message blinking on Val's omni-tool was a bland official notification from the Alliance that the mass relay network was active again, restoring normal transport to the galaxy, and all active duty personnel should stand by for orders. Val stared at the message, still stunned.

 _Normal._ There was nothing normal about the Reapers repairing the mass relays. Could this really be a step toward something better? Or was it just a piece of another insidious Reaper plot? The mass relays had been a trap all along, Val remembered, and the Citadel, too. Her hands closed into fists.

"I have to go," Mama announced, standing up quickly.

"What?" Val asked, startled out of her thoughts.

"Where are you going?" Alex asked.

"The office," she said. "We already have ships lining up at the relay, shuttles wanting to land, and there aren't enough places to put people. Go on, eat, I'll see you later."

Mama left before Val could say anything more. Appetite suddenly dried up, she poked her fork into the remains of her breakfast and glanced warily at Alex.

"Well. I guess the Reapers really are our new friends," he said.

"Do you really believe that?" Val asked sharply.

Alex shrugged. "They killed billions of people. It's going to take more than a couple good deeds before I trust them."

"Good," she said, and forced herself to take another bite of eggs.

Alex fiddled with his spoon and gulped down his coffee, not looking at her. Hunched over his meager breakfast, he looked more haunted than threatening. Val could have felt sorry for him, if she could have put the night before out of her mind. Instead, she felt a growing thread of frustration with him, almost anger. She understood why he'd done it. But she couldn't help wanting to shake him. On top of that, he and Garrus had sidelined her, and she desperately wanted to know what they'd been talking about.

Val swallowed her mouthful and decided to chance it. "So, do you have a plan yet?"

Alex's eyes shifted right, left, anywhere but at her. After a second of silence, he said, "I need to talk to Vakarian."

Val blew out a breath. "Right." She waited, but apparently he wasn't going to say anything more. The hell with it; she'd eaten enough, Val decided, and started to get up.

"Listen—" Alex said.

"What?" Standing, she looked down at him as he opened his mouth, and then shook his head and shut it, eyes shifting away.

"Nothing."

Val waited for a second, but Alex seemed determined to do nothing but stare silently into his coffee. They really might as well be strangers, she reflected bitterly, and walked away.

Outside the mess tent, the hubbub continued. The narrow dirt paths between the camps' buildings were clogged now with knots of people. Someone staring intently at their omni-tool's screen projector nearly collided with Val, offering an absent-minded "Sorry" without looking up.

"What are you doing?" Val asked, nonplussed.

"Trying to see if there's any word on the _Franklin_ ," he explained, frowning at his 'tool. "I'd go ask at HQ, but..." He jerked his head to the side by way of explanation.

Val followed the gesture and looked over toward HQ. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the size of the crowd congested there, dozens of people waving for attention or calling out names of ships or colonies. A couple of harried clerks were trying to wrangle people into some kind of orderly line. Val edged in the opposite direction, wanting nothing more than to get some space between herself and the frantic crowd. She could almost smell the anxiety in the air, disturbingly reminiscent of the last few times she'd been on the Citadel, when the aura of desperation and fear had been palpable.

A shuttle roared overhead, its blue and white paint chipped and scorched; Val, along with half a dozen under people, ducked at the sudden noise. Ten or so people ran after it, probably hoping to catch it at when it landed. Their departure opened up space, though the paths were still crowded with clusters of people. Val started toward her training facility, overhearing snatches of conversation as she passed.

"Mostly I'd like to find my sister—"

"I'm telling you, it's actually an asari plot—"

"—haven't heard from my fiance in months—"

"—at least all the aliens can go home now—"

"—don't care what anyone says, those Reapers have to be up to something—"

Val grimaced as the last comment mirrored her own thoughts. Having mass relay travel restored ought to be a good thing, so people could get home and find their loved ones, but she couldn't help seeing it as some kind of trap.

Getting through the crowds was taking forever, too. Most of the camp had obviously decided to throw routine out the window. Val had a feeling she was going to have a lot of no-shows at today's scheduled training sessions.

Abruptly, a cacophony of electronic beeps went off. All the omni-tools and vidscreens Val could see flashed at once, and a message started playing. The screens stayed blank, playing only the audio: a deep, resonant voice that was probably supposed to sound soothing.

What it said made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Greetings, citizens of the galaxy. The mass relay network has been repaired for your use. You may resume normal travel. We welcome the restoration of normal routine."

The words were innocuous, but there was no doubt in Val's mind that she was listening to a Reaper. For a moment, her breath came short and her pulse pounded. She swallowed hard, concentrating on taking slow, deep breaths.

Around her, a babble of conversation broke out. From the sounds of it, most people weren't finding the announcement any more reassuring than Val did. She could hear a couple of people trying to argue that the Reapers must have had a change of heart, but they seemed drowned out by a whirl of questions and protests.

If she were _the_ Commander Shepard, Val reflected sourly, she probably would have felt obligated to do or say something to improve morale. Stand up and reassure people, or promise to find answers, or something.

Instead, she ducked her head and pushed her way through the crowd, closing her ears to the conversations she passed as best she could. She made it all the way to the training facility in a blur, and stood staring at the closed door for a moment. _Screw it_ , she decided. There was no point in trying to train today. Biotics needed to focus and concentrate, not be distracted by the day's speculations and hopes.

She tapped the electronic lock, intending to put in a message in case anyone stopped by. Her omni-tool's beeping interrupted her.

Val looked around warily, but hers was the only 'tool sounding this time. Looking down, she realized it was signaling a voice call.

From Garrus.

Val hesitated. She would have expected Coats calling her in for something, or maybe her mother. Garrus... there wasn't much that Garrus could possibly be calling to talk to her about, except last night.

"Shepard here," she answered, warily.

"Listen, we need to talk."

Garrus's voice on the other end was familiar, warm and deep, slightly fuzzed from the electronic transmission. Val swallowed down a lump in her throat, and her voice came out sharp. "Yeah? What about?"

"I've had an idea," he said. "About our dilemma of last night."

Val took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She didn't blame them for their actions. Couldn't, if she looked at the situation clear-eyed, like an outsider. But she couldn't help a pang of hurt, even of betrayal, all the same. And she sure as hell wasn't about to walk into another trap. "Forgive me if I'd rather not go anywhere alone with either of you."

"Wouldn't expect you to," Garrus said. "Meet me at the bar, though?"

Hearing that phrase made her feel light-headed. Garrus was saying something else, but the words blurred together. Val pressed her free hand against the door, cool and flat and hard against her palm, and took another deep breath to ground herself. "What, now?"

"I said, if that's all right. There are always people there."

"Have you talked to Alex?"

"He agrees with me that we should talk. All three of us."

Val straightened and looked around at the camp, at the knots of anxious and arguing people she could see. She had no appetite to stay there among the frantic worry and speculation. "All right. I'll be there. I guess I'm not doing anything else."

Even though the bar was familiar territory, Val felt tense as a strung wire when she entered, and scanned the room warily. The tightness in her shoulders eased when she realized there were several other clusters of people huddled around the tables. The murmured conversations she could hear had an anxious undertone, just like in the camp outside, but here, the talk seemed quieter, and calmer. If the place had been totally empty, she might have walked out, but with others present — a handful of humans, a few turians, a couple asari — Val felt secure enough to join Garrus and Alex at the back corner table.

"I've been thinking," Garrus said as soon as she sat down. "We don't have to decide between taking Liara's word and taking yours. We could talk to Javik."

"Who's Javik?" Alex asked.

Val stared at Garrus in shock as he answered, "He's a Prothean."

"Really?" Alex slouched back in his chair, looking surprised. "I'd heard a rumor about finding a live Prothean, but I wasn't sure I believed it."

"Oh, he's real," Garrus said. "Surly as hell, but a born warrior... why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, turning to Val.

"Last night you said you didn't know who Javik was," she burst out. After everything else that had happened the night before, the idea that Garrus might have openly lied to her shouldn't bother her so much, and yet it felt like a gut punch, leaving her shocked and indignant.

"No, I didn't, I—" Garrus froze for a second, head tilted, unblinking. Val stared back at him, and Alex leaned forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the ground with a thump.

"Garrus?" Val asked, her irritation turning to worry.

"I did, didn't I?" Garrus said slowly. He shook his head. "I don't know why I would have said that. I can't — I didn't even remember that, until you said it. I'd just been thinking, all day, that I didn't know why it had never occurred to me to talk to Javik."

"There was a lot going on last night, but that's weird," Alex said slowly. His eyes narrowed in calculation.

Garrus's mandibles twitched. He shook his head. "Yeah."

"Have you been around the orb at all?" Val demanded.

"Not since we brought it in," Garrus said.

"Are you sure?" she pressed.

He opened his mouth and stopped, mandibles flickering again.

"I'm sure," Alex said. "I have the access code to the secure container. There's no log of anyone opening it between the time you brought it in and the time I was assigned to it. Hell, I've barely opened the container myself."

"All right," Val said grudgingly.

"Why would it be the orb?" Alex asked. "Suppose I decide to believe you that the thing enables mind control. I've seen no proof of that, but let's allow it as a hypothesis. Why would your Leviathan care about this Javik, or introducing this weird little memory glitch for Vakarian?"

Val frowned. Try as she might, she couldn't come up with anything. Especially since Garrus had remembered Javik in the end. "I don't know," she admitted. "But you have to admit, him forgetting Javik's existence entirely, and then remembering the next day, is weird."

Alex shrugged, though he was still frowning. "Memory is a strange and complicated thing. People forget details all the time." He sounded defensive, like he might be trying to convince himself.

"Javik is not someone you forget," Val said firmly.

Across the table, Garrus nodded. "She's right about that."

"Thanks," Val said dryly.

"No problem," Garrus replied, glancing at her. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a flash of dry humor in his eyes. "We do have a different problem, though, which is that Javik is not a free agent."

Val frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think the Alliance was afraid he might incite a public disturbance of some kind," Garrus said. His talons tapped on the table, one-two-three. "He didn't take the, ah, outcome of the war well."

Shepard took that in and stiffened, her stomach lurching. She remembered Javik's austere, relentless fury well; she could only imagine his rage at any outcome that did not involve the complete destruction of the Reapers. To tell the truth, a little of that rage simmered under her skin, too, especially when she thought of Javik locked away to keep him quiet.

Alex said, "So what are you saying? That we have to break into an Alliance jail to get to this guy?"

"Officially, it's protective custody," Garrus said, still fidgeting. "And it's not breaking in, exactly. I know Javik; he should be willing to talk to me. But I don't have official authorization to do so." He looked at Val. "Your rank might actually come in handy here, Staff Commander."

His gaze seemed to pierce her. Shepard realized what he intended in half a heartbeat. "You want us to bluff our way in."

"Do any of us really want to go through official channels? They'll want an explanation."

Val glanced at Alex, and then back at Garrus. She certainly wasn't eager to manufacture a lie for the Alliance. Not one that would be on record, at least.

"If we go now," Garrus said, "there's a good chance we'll slip through the cracks. Communications are overloaded as it is. It'll be easy to pretend orders got lost somewhere."

"So you do want me to go somewhere alone with you, after all," Val pointed out, a touch of acid entering her voice.

"We'll be in public the whole time," Garrus said. His gaze stayed intent on her, his brow plates tilting up.

Javik might be her only chance to really convince them. Val glanced at Alex, slouched in his chair with a frown on his face. It was a leap of faith, but if she wanted them to believe her, and trust her, it was a leap she had to take.

The Alliance holding facility was , like the rest of the camp, a series of drab, gray prefabs, laid end to end and bolstered with extra security. True to Garrus's promise, the three of them marched through the Alliance camp to get there, in full public view the whole way. They went straight to the more secluded end of the building and walked right in the entrance, Garrus and Val in the lead.

Inside was a small security console staffed by a pair of bored-looking guards. One of the guards said, barely looking up, "State your business, please."

"Staff Commander Shepard and guests to see Javik," Val said, matching the casual neutrality of his tone. For this to work, they needed to seem completely routine and aboveboard.

The guard looked up at Javik's name, though, eyes wide and startled, seeming remarkably young. "But that's—"

His partner, older and heavyset, cleared her throat, and the first guard looked embarrassed before straightening up. "Sorry, Commander, we don't have any authorized access on the schedule today, and, um. I'm not sure you're on the authorized list at all."

Val sighed. "Doesn't that just figure? Could you check again? I only got my orders to come over here half an hour ago."

"Of course." The guard dutifully tapped at his console and frowned.

Val waited for a couple of seconds before saying, "Well?"

"I'm, uh..." The guard poked anxiously at the console. His partner got up from her seat and came over to peer over his shoulder.

"Come on, I don't have all day," Val said.

"Sorry, Commander, we're having difficulty accessing the system."

That was entirely predictable, given the interference Alex's omni-tool was throwing off. There was a good chance that network communications were clogged anyway, given the day's events, but they'd decided not to take chances.

"There's a lot going on right now," added the female guard. "Probably just overloaded."

"Look, this won't take long," Val said. "We just need to ask the Prothean a couple of questions."

The two guards looked at each other. "About?" asked the woman.

Val sighed impatiently. "I can't tell you that."

"Could you come back later?" asked the male guard, nervously.

At that, Garrus made a disgruntled noise, and Val shook her head. "The Hierarchy rep here's got a schedule to stick to," she said, in a tone that implied the turian was being unreasonable, but what could you do?

The guards exchanged glances again. Then the woman said, "Half an hour."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Val said, and breezed by before they could change their minds.

The corridor beyond was lined with closed, windowless doors, most with electronic locks glowing orange-red. Only one had a lock lit green. Val chose not to glance at either of her companions before opening the door, but her heartbeat accelerated. Here was the moment of truth. They were all placing a lot of faith in the idea that Javik could sort this out. That he could prove she wasn't simply delusional, or a programmed clone.

Liara had said she was delusional. But Val was sure that Liara had seen otherwise, and had chosen to lie. Or been compelled to lie by the Leviathan, maybe.

The whole thing was making Val's head hurt out of confusion and frustration, but the only thing she could think to do was press on. Trying to lie and live the life she'd been given had only gotten her into her current mess.

As soon as the door opened, a rush of warm, humid air flowed out. It smelled the way Javik's quarters on the _Normandy_ had smelled, of dampness and ozone and a certain burnt-metal tang. The atmospheric controls had been altered from human norms to suit Javik's comfort, and bowls of water stood on every level surface. The room wasn't as large as Javik's quarters on the _Normandy_ , not nearly as large as the protective confinement Shepard herself had occupied in Vancouver. All the furniture was plain, standard-issue stuff. In spite of the warmth of the room, Val felt chilled at the idea of Javik being confined here. As difficult as the Prothean could be, she respected him as a proud warrior. He didn't deserved to be held against his will, no matter what the Alliance was afraid he'd do.

She stepped in. There, sitting incongruously on a bland beige couch, was Javik himself, still wearing the gleaming, chitinous red armor Val recognized. Looking, in fact, exactly like he had the last time she'd seen him, in London.

All four of Javik's eyes flicked to her and passed over Alex before settling on Garrus.

"Turian," Javik said. "Why are you here? And why have you brought these humans?"

"Nice to see you, too," Garrus replied dryly.

Javik made a kind of rasping noise deep in his throat. "Nothing about this... situation... is 'nice,' turian. I agreed to fight the Reapers with your Shepard, and this is how I am repaid?"

No, Val realized. Not like in London. Then, Javik had been weary, but with the also calm and focused. Now, he seemed fairly seething with helpless fury.

"I'm sorry," Garrus said carefully, sounding conciliatory. "I did protest to the Alliance, but it wasn't my call."

Javik sniffed. "What do I care for this foolish human government? Shepard pledged to destroy the Reapers, and he did not."

"We don't know what happened to Shepard," Garrus said. His eyes darted quickly to Val. "Maybe it wasn't possible to destroy them. Maybe he didn't have a choice."

"Or maybe he made the wrong choice," Val added.

"Who are these humans?" Javik asked.

Garrus said, "Staff Commander Val Shepard, Alex Shepard. No relation to the Shepard you know."

Javik rose slowly from the couch, bulking large and menacing in spite of their confined surroundings. "That hardly answers the question. A name is not who a person _is_."

"I'm Commander Shepard," Val said, tired of the conversation. She stood her ground as Javik approached, all four of his eyes now focused on her. "I mean, I remember being Commander Shepard. Doing the things that this Shepard — John Shepard — seems to have done. More or less. I woke up after the battle, and everything around me seemed wrong. I don't know how." Her eyes stung. She was so tired of wondering, of doubting herself. "We came here because we were hoping you could tell me if what I remember is true, or if this world is, or... what." She blinked hard and took a deep breath. "If I'm really delusional, I'd rather know for certain."

Javik's facial expressions had always been hard to read, but his voice turned distinctly more contemptuous. "What absurd tale is this?"

"It's true, that's why we're here," Garrus said. "You were the only one I could think of who might be able to help."

"Can you?" Alex asked. "Can you tell if her memories are real, or some kind of invention?"

"Of course," said Javik. "Your kind are not yet so skilled in the manipulation of memories."

Alex's nostrils flared. "Then just do it, all right? We don't have a lot of time."

"I do not take orders from you, human," Javik said, but his attention turned back to Val and he took a heavy step toward her.

She stood her ground, lifting her chin. Javik's usual withering attitude toward all things of this cycle was so familiar that it gave her a kind of confidence. She did her best to meet the gaze of his two central eyes head-on, returning respect and bracing herself.

Where melding with an asari was a two-way process, Javik's way of reading a person felt like nothing at all. A little bit of pressure at her temples, or that might have been her imagination, a purely psychosomatic reaction. Her heart pounded while Javik stared at her, as she hoped with everything in her that he'd say what she wanted to hear.

Then Javik blinked, first the middle pair of eyes, then all four of them at once. "You," he said, something like respect dawning in his voice. "You were not swayed by that child-thing's lies. You sought to destroy them."

"Yes," Val said. Her skull pounded, her morning's headache back with a vengeance, but relief flooded through her.

"That is as it should be," Javik said. "This human tells truth. Your asari lied. Why, and how this came to be, I do not know."

Alex grunted, apparently in frustration. Garrus said, "Thanks, Javik. You've helped a lot."

Javik scoffed, turning to the nearest bowl of water and dipping his hands into it. "And so you shall leave me here."

Garrus hesitated and glanced at Val. She shook her head slowly. The thought of leaving Javik here made her stomach churn, but she couldn't think of any way to get him out without challenging Alliance Command. Garrus said, "I'm sorry, but we can't just break you out of here."

Javik's breath came out in a hiss. "I understand." His massive head turned, as he glanced back at them over his shoulder. "You cannot trust the Reapers, or any AI. When you must fight them again, then you may need me."

"I'll get you out of here. As soon as I can," Val said. It was a rash promise, but Javik, no matter how difficult and prickly, was one of her own people. She owed him far better than this.

He inclined his great head, silent, and they left.

"Did you get what you needed?" one of the door guards called as they left.

"Sure did," Val replied with a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garrus glance at her, and Alex frown in thought.

Once the door had closed behind them and they were out of earshot, Alex burst out, "None of this makes sense."

"I believe her, though," Garrus said, and it warmed something deep in Val's chest. She took a breath, and felt some residual tightness in her ribcage loosen.

"That still doesn't answer how this happened," Alex said. "Or what to do about it."

They were both looking at her, Val realized. With curiosity, with speculation, even with a hint of expectation. Under their eyes, she could almost feel the weight of Commander Shepard settling around her.

"Well, Commander," Garrus said. "What now?"


	15. Chapter 14

"I don't know what to do any more than you do," Shepard said, caught in the crossfire of two sets of eyes.

"Well," Garrus drawled, "I suppose the question is what you want to do about it?"

"Or what the hell caused this," Alex added, still frowning.

When Val looked back at Alex, he scowled at the ground immediately. He fixed his eyes there stubbornly as they walked, refusing to meet her gaze. As she watched him avoid her eyes, Val's sense of vindication dwindled, mingling with a weird guilty sympathy. He'd insisted that she was an imposter. He'd probably thought his real sister was dead or imprisoned somewhere. Now he'd been proven wrong. Val should probably try to talk to him, one on one. It seemed like the right thing to do, but not under the weight of Garrus's expectant gaze.

"I don't know," she said aloud. As much as it was a relief to have them believe her, it didn't solve the larger problem. She was out of place, or the world was. Things she knew as truth hadn't happened, as far as everyone else was concerned. It probably had something to do with the Crucible — she'd been right there when it went off, so that seemed like her best guess — but what exactly had happened, and how to undo it, that wasn't clear at all.

If it even _could_ be undone. Or should be. Val didn't trust the Reapers, but... this world had her parents and her brothers in it, after all.

A dull ache throbbed behind her temples. Sighing, Val rubbed her forehead. The thought of having to make galaxy-shattering decisions again exhausted her, and gave her a sick, squirmy feeling in the pit of her stomach. What if it was her fault this had happened in the first place? She sure as hell hadn't understood what the Crucible would do. The thing that called itself the Catalyst must have lied. Could she really jump in here and start pushing things around? Should she?

She'd always had a clear mission. Stop Saren, stop the Collectors, stop the Reapers. Even when she'd been chained to Cerberus, she'd had that. Sometimes it was a bad mission — look at Aratoht — but at least she'd had some kind of objective. Sometimes with seemingly insurmountable obstacles in her way, but as long as she had a goal, she could handle obstacles.

She'd always had a ship and a crew, too. Like she'd told her clone, they helped make her who she was.

Now she only had murky suspicions and a conspiracy of three. Assuming the other two trusted her.

Garrus's omni-tool sounded shrilly, interrupting Shepard's thoughts. He silenced it immediately and brought up the interface, his brow plates twitching. "Damn. Sorry, I have to go."

"Problem?" Val asked, coming to alert.

"Little bit. We had a bunch of krogan stranded on Palaven when the relays went down. Now they want to get back to Tuchanka yesterday, but there aren't enough troop transports available."

"Wow." Val winced at the thought of explaining that to hordes of hungry, weary krogan. "Yeah, go take care of that."

"I'm taking off, too," Alex announced abruptly. "I have work to do, I'll be in the lab."

He was already turning away, so Val said quickly, "All right, let's think things over, and meet up tonight?"

Alex departed with a vague wave of his hand, as if he were brushing away flies. Val stared after him, her fists tightening in frustration. She'd hoped that with Garrus leaving, they could have a minute to talk.

"He'll come around," Garrus said. "He was pretty sure you were part of some kind of Cerberus plot."

Val sighed and let her hands relax. "Yeah, I got that."

Garrus's mandibles twitched out in a grin. "See you later." His armored bulk and long-legged strides easily carried him through the crowd of anxious humans still filling the paths of the camp.

Unsure of her own path, Val turned her steps toward HQ. She was tempted to follow Alex to the lab, but his abrupt departure felt like a dismissal. She was pretty sure her presence wouldn't be welcome.

She didn't know how to bridge the gap that lay between them.

Garrus seemed to be handling things a lot more smoothly, but then, he wasn't her brother. He didn't have any expectations of her to adjust.

Maybe they'd have something for her to do at HQ. She could help keep order, probably. Something.

On her right, a column of people in stained, worn coveralls straggled along in twos and threes, moving the same direction as Val. Several of them stared around wide-eyed, as if the camp was something wondrous. _Newbies_ , Val thought with a spark of amusement. They must have just come in by shuttle. She glanced over at them idly, not expecting any familiar faces.

A young woman caught her eye and broke out into a smile, waving at her frantically. While Val frowned, trying to place the face, the woman broke away from the group and threaded her way through the crowd toward Val, calling her name.

Light-skinned, blond with half-grown-out streaks of turquoise in her hair, she was totally unfamiliar. She had a roundish face and a turned-up nose, and otherwise seemed totally ordinary. If Val had seen her before, she had no idea where. She tensed, fighting an urge to disappear into the crowd.

That clearly wasn't going to work, though. "Val Shepard!" the young woman called out again. Finally getting free of the pedestrian traffic, she ran the last few steps and flung her arms around Val in a swift, awkward hug. "It's so good to see you again! I mean, it's good to see any of the family, after riding out the war on Elysium. There just wasn't any way to get back home, you know? No safe way, at least." She stepped back, shaking her head. "And I know Ivan's still in hospital, but with Arcturus station gone they're routing traffic here instead of direct to Sol. But you probably knew that already. Anyway, here I am! I've been aboard ship for the last couple of months. God, it's good to be on solid ground again."

"Here you are," Val echoed, trying to process the stream of conversation. Her brain seized on the key names: Elysium, and Ivan, and... "Talitha," she breathed.

"That's me," she said, smiling and rocking on her feet. Her smile cracked and faltered as she took in Val's expression. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, of course," Val said, putting on her own best smile. "I'm sorry, there's been so much going on, I almost didn't recognize you." That was an understatement. Now that she knew who she was looking at, she could place the coloring and bone structure, but she never would have recognized the terrified girl escaped from slavery in the bright-eyed young woman before her now. _Your baby brother's girlfriend_ , Mama had said. Ivan's hometown sweetheart, away at the university on Elysium. Of course she saw her boyfriend's older sister as family.

"No worries," Talitha said with a sunny smile. "They told us to check in at HQ so we could be assigned housing and work and stuff. Looks like it's going to be a zoo, huh?"

"Looks like," Val said. "I was just headed that way myself."

She resumed walking, and Talitha fell in beside her, chattering cheerfully about the journey, how cramped her ship had been, what a relief it had been to get messages through. A lot of the details rolled off Val; she was too busy trying to absorb the situation. How was she supposed to treat Talitha? How well did they know each other? Ivan and Talitha both would have been younger kids when Val left home at eighteen, so they couldn't possibly be very close, could they?

Alex ought to know. Even more reason for Val to talk to him.

Val felt a little bad about it, but she was relieved to peel off once they got to an HQ swarming with activity. She left Talitha in a line of people waiting to be processed, and headed over to Coats's assistant. They handed her a stack of datapads and told her to add newly arrived biotics on her list. All in all, the work filled a couple of hours before Val could escape and make her way toward Alex's lab.

It was quieter in that section of the camp, removed from most of the housing and office complexes. Still, Val felt her tension rising as she approached the door, remembering the trap they'd sprung on her the last time she was here.

It wouldn't happen again, she told herself firmly, and pushed the door open.

The orb lurked in its case, still in the same place, lights blinking orange and green on the control panel. Alex was nowhere to be seen, again, which didn't make Val feel any better. Instead, the place at the workstation was occupied by a brown-haired woman who turned toward the door with an achingly familiar expectant smile.

"Hello?" Samantha Traynor said. "Can I help you?"

Caught off guard, Val tried for the kind of smile she'd give to a total stranger. "You must be Alex's research assistant."

"That's right, for now," Traynor said brightly. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Alex's sister, Val." Val glanced past Traynor toward the back of the lab uneasily, hoping Alex would put in an appearance soon. "Is he here?"

"Of course you are," Traynor said. Her tone was odd, almost flat, unlike her usual self. When Val looked back at her, surprised, Traynor was reaching under her console for something.

"What—" she started to say, and then Traynor straightened back up with a gun in her hand.

"You do not belong here," she said. Her voice sounded low, almost hollow. "You'll ruin everything." She aimed the gun at Val's chest.

Traynor moved stiffly, no match for Val's enhanced reflexes. Val's hand shot out and closed over the gun and Traynor's fingers. Pushing, she forced the gun up and away. "Traynor— Samantha— you don't want to do this."

"You leave us no choice. You are not wanted here." Traynor's free hand formed into a fist, so Val grabbed that, too.

"Why?" she demanded, abandoning her attempt to reach the real Samantha Traynor. Traynor wasn't in charge now. She must have opened the orb's case. If the Leviathan were controlling her, maybe Val could finally get some answers out of them. "Why me? What's so important about me?"

Traynor struggled ineffectually against Val's grip. "You don't belong here!" she wailed, eyes bright and glassy. "You were spoiling everything. You'll ruin everything again!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Alex shouted, bursting out of the back room.

"It has to be the orb," Val called, trying to twist the gun out of Traynor's hand without breaking Traynor's fingers.

Alex spat something in Russian and ran toward the orb's case. Traynor, squirming, tried to force the gun back toward Val; Val set her teeth and forced it away, pointing toward the ceiling. Under her tightening grip, Traynor's hand spasmed, and the gun went off.

Alex hit something on the instrument panel. All the lights flashed and then turned green. Traynor's grip suddenly slackened; her eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropping open. Behind Val, somebody gasped.

Val didn't dare take her eyes off Traynor as she pulled the gun out of her limp hand. As soon as she let go, Traynor crumpled into a ball, burying her face in her hands.

"It's okay," Val told her, hoping she sounded reassuring.

"What the hell," breathed a feminine voice from the doorway.

"Talitha," Alex said. His face scrunched up into a frown. "Talitha?" His gaze darted toward Val as he searched for some kind of plausible explanation. "What are you doing here?"

Val glanced over her shoulder to find Talitha, pale and shocked, standing just inside the door. "They said you had a lab out here. I thought I'd stop by and say hi," she said in a small voice.

"It's not what it looks like," Val said hastily.

"I... I... what happened," Traynor cried, muffled between her hands.

Val safed the gun and stuck it in her own belt. "Everything's all right," she said in her most soothing voice, bending down so she was closer to Traynor's eye level.

"I had a gun," Traynor said in a strangled voice. "We were just talking, and then I was... I wasn't anywhere, and suddenly I had a gun. Oh God. What happened?"

Val stole a swift look at Alex, who was frowning deeply. Her jaw tensed with the effort of not saying _I told you so_. "It's okay," she said to Traynor gently, putting her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "No one was hurt. Everything's all right."

"That sounds really scary," Talitha added, unexpectedly. She'd taken a couple of steps forward to stand behind Val. When Val took a quick look back at her, she was looking at Traynor, her eyes full of sympathy. "I don't blame you for freaking out."

Traynor laughed, high-pitched and almost hysterical. "I didn't... what was I trying to do?"

"You weren't in control, but they can't get to you now," Val told her, hoping she was right. She stole a quick glance at the orb. Maybe it would be better to destroy it, after all.

Traynor lowered her hands, looking at Val fearfully. "Are you going to report this?"

"No," Val said quickly, her mind racing. She didn't want Traynor charged with anything.

"I've never... dissociated, or anything like that, I..."

"It wasn't you," Val said again. She hesitated, chewing on her lip, and then decided to go with the truth. "It's the orb. It allows creatures called Leviathan to control you."

Shuddering, Traynor wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Alex said, "What was it like? Could you tell anything about them?"

Traynor shook her head. "No. It was cold, that's all. Cold and dark."

Bryson's assistant had said exactly the same thing. Val sighed and straightened, watching Traynor carefully. "They're an aquatic species, deep sea dwellers," she said, rubbing her forehead. Her headache twinged dully, threatening to come back full force. "I guess they like us land-dwelling species to be subjugated to them."

Alex exhaled loudly, still scowling.

Talitha said cautiously, "Well, that is... extremely creepy and all, but... why would they want to kill you, Val?"

Val looked at Alex, who raised his eyebrows. Talitha and Traynor were both looking at her, too, the latter warily, her eyes still damp. Val sighed. "Because I'm..."

She stopped as the import of what Traynor had said sank in. A knot of ice formed in the pit of her stomach.

The Leviathan were right, after all. She didn't belong here. They'd taunted her with that phrase before, trying to drive her out of the places they'd claimed for their own, but this time they were right. She was out of place, an outsider.

_You'll ruin everything_ , Traynor had said, making it sound like there was a plan. Some strategy of the Leviathans, one Val Shepard wasn't part of.

What did they know? Were they behind everything?

"Because I don't belong here," she said faintly, looking at Alex. She could see comprehension light in his eyes almost at once.

"What?" asked Talitha, bewildered. Traynor stared at Val in equal incomprehension.

Maybe she shouldn't tell them. Her story was too strange, after all. Alex and Garrus hadn't believed her easily; they still might not believe her entirely.

But Talitha and Traynor had become part of this, however accidentally.

"It's kind of a long story," Val said. "Maybe we should all sit down."

"I need a cigarette," Alex grumbled.

"I need a drink," Traynor said, her voice shaky.

#

They relocated to the bar. Not really a private space, but none of them had real privacy in their assorted barracks. At least there were drinks here, and the din of other tables' conversation covered theirs. Traynor had ordered some kind of neon-colored cocktail. The bartender had even managed to find a paper umbrella to stick in it, which Traynor now twirled absently between her fingers. Alex had pushed his chair back from the table to enjoy one of his precious cigarettes while Val told her story all over again. He must have called Garrus, too; at least, Garrus showed up twenty minutes after Val started talking. He slid into a seat next to Traynor, who relaxed when he sat down.

"This is the strangest day I've ever had," Samantha said when she was done, and took a long drink.

"Me too," Talitha said brightly. "Although my advisor would love it."

"Who's your advisor?" Val asked.

"Dr. Malim Coras. He's a physicist at the University of Elysium. Salarian. He's so brilliant, he loves all this theoretical speculative multiverse kind of stuff. Wow, I wish he were here now."

Alex snorted. Traynor blinked at Talitha. "What?"

"Multiverse?" Val said a moment later.

"Yeah!" Talitha leaned forward, eyes bright. She pointed both her index fingers at Val as if she planned to shoot lasers out of her fingertips. "Many universes! Alternate dimensions! _This_ Val Shepard swapped places with a different dimension's Val Shepard." She crossed one hand over the other, to illustrate.

"I suppose," Val said cautiously. The idea made some kind of sense out of her experiences, but it didn't give her much insight into why or how this had happened.

Alex made a disgusted sound in his throat.

"What?" Talitha demanded.

"I knew you were going to say that."

"Well? Isn't it the most sensible explanation?"

Alex leaned forward, stubbing out his cigarette on a battered scrap of metal that passed for an ashtray. "It just sounds like science fiction, that's all."

"We live in a world of biotics, spaceships, and instantaneous travel," Traynor pointed out.

He shook his head. "But all those make sense."

"Biotics don't actually make much sense to the rest of us," Garrus murmured.

"Aleeex, c'mon!" Talitha was _wheedling_ , Val realized with surprise. She watched in wonder as Talitha stared pleadingly at Alex until he sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, tilting his chair back.

"Fine. Multiple dimensions are theoretically possible. The existence of a multiverse has never been proven, or even—" Alex shook his head. "Moving a human being from one dimension to another, much less swapping two — I don't see how that would be possible. The energy expenditure necessary— no. Your Dr. Coras and some other crackpots can hypothesize about this shit—"

"Hey," Talitha protested.

"—but theory is a long, long way from application. There's no reason another universe should look much like ours at all."

Val cleared her throat. All eyes at the table turned toward her. "I'm no scientist," she said, "but maybe it had something to do with the Crucible?"

"The Crucible?" Garrus asked quickly.

Val shrugged. "We never understood it very well, and there was definitely a massive energy discharge, so..."

"You're thinking maybe enough to move someone into another dimension?" Alex leaned forward, eyes sharp, the legs of his chair hitting the floor with a thump. "I'd still have a lot of questions about that, but maybe. Was it purposeful, though, or random? Maybe a side effect of the Crucible's discharge?"

"I was the person closest to it when it fired, I guess, so maybe that was it?"

Traynor said, "But you didn't switch with Shepard... excuse me, I mean John Shepard. Between the lot of you, there are too many Shepards." She shook her head.

"I did in a way," Val said, but Traynor was right. If there were two universes at issue here, in some ways she'd switched with the other Val Shepard, and in some ways she'd switched with John. Trying to figure out which was which made her head hurt.

Alex was frowning. "You're right, that doesn't add up."

"Isn't the real question how we get you back?" Talitha asked.

"How do you figure?" Garrus asked.

Talitha folded her hands together and looked down nervously. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean... I guess it seemed obvious. To set things right, don't we need to send her back? Get back our own Val Shepard? No offense," she added hastily. "I just thought, if you belong somewhere else, and she belongs here... she must be having a weird time, too."

Val flinched at the thought. She hadn't really thought about the possibility that somewhere there might be another version of herself, bewildered by her sudden fame and position. She would have lost her family all at once, Val realized, stricken. Her family, and her own friends, and she wouldn't know Garrus, or any of the _Normandy_ crew who might try to comfort her. All those friendships would be strange and disorienting, in their own way, wouldn't they?

But then... Val remembered burning. For all she knew, she... or her other self... was severely injured. Comatose, like John Shepard, or maybe even dead. Val had thought she was going to die that night. She remembered the ache in her chest and blood sticky on her skin, and the hollow loneliness of those last moments.

Garrrus said, "If it took the Crucible to get you here..." and trailed off.

"The Crucible's in pieces," Alex said. "The Citadel's not much better. There's no rebuilding that thing."

Talitha deflated. "Right. But there has to be some way, doesn't there?"

Her voice was hesitant, but hopeful. Val wished she had the same faith that everything would work out. Even though as she'd clung to hope with her fingernails throughout the war, she hadn't been able to entirely resist the grim sense that the Reaper invasion was going to be the end of all they knew. Surrounded by too much death and loss, she supposed.

But then, she'd lost her whole world at age sixteen. She wasn't sure she'd had Talitha's sense of optimism since that day.

If she went back... if she _could_ go back, which didn't look likely... she'd be losing her mother and Alex all over again, and the rest of the family, too. It also meant leaving them all here, in this Reaper-filled world John Shepard had made.

Val fidgeted in her seat, unable to reconcile the idea. It didn't sit right; she didn't like the thought of abandoning her people.

Even if these people weren't really hers, and she wasn't really theirs.

Silence had fallen over the table after Talitha's remark. Alex, frowning, stared into space with narrowed eyes. Garrus had his mandibles tight to his face.

Traynor, draining her glass, burst out laughing. "Maybe you should ask the Reapers! If it's their fault you got here anyway. Wait. They didn't design the Crucible. Or did they?" She pressed a hand to her head, her mouth turning down. "I forget."

"I think you might have had enough, Traynor," Garrus said dryly.

Traynor had a point, though. The Reapers and the Leviathan were enemies. And yet... Val shivered. Cold prickled down her spine at the thought of talking to a Reaper. She'd done it before, more than once, but their vast, hostile disregard made her feel furious and small all at once. Besides, they tended not to be forthcoming. She wasn't sure how much she could really expect to learn from one.

Then again, the Reapers were supposed to be friendly now, weren't they? Maybe, locked somewhere in their vast, alien brains, was the explanation she needed.

In the stiff, worried silence, Alex sighed heavily. "There might be another possibility. Other than trusting our new metallic squid overlords, I mean."

Val looked at him expectantly, along with the rest of the table. Alex was frowning into space. Under all their scrutiny, his eyes came back into focus, and he glanced at Val before beginning. "After I left Cerberus—"

"Wait, what?" Talitha said. Traynor's eyebrows had also shot up. "Aren't Cerberus terrorists?"

"Later," Alex said, waving the question off. "Anyway, after I left, I ran into some other scientists who were similarly trying to disentangle themselves, and we compared notes. We learned a hell of a lot more about each other's projects than we ever had when we were _with_ Cerberus, I can tell you that."

"Why were you in a terrorist organization?" Talitha demanded.

Alex's shoulders hunched. "Long story."

"They tempted him with science," Val said. When Alex glared at her across the table, she added, "What? Isn't that what you told me?"

Talitha growled and threw a balled-up napkin at him.

"The point is," Alex said loudly, snatching the napkin, "I heard about a project that aimed to build a dimensional portal. I thought it was bullshit, but maybe they were on to something."

Talitha sat back in her chair, looking thoughtful. "Wow. That sounds dangerous."

"Why would Cerberus want to do that?" Traynor asked, her brow creasing.

"Why does Cerberus do anything?" Alex said. "Someone thought it would give humanity an edge, and the Illusive Man liked the idea enough to throw credits at them."

"He was obsessed with the Reapers," Val said slowly, thinking it over. "It's always possible he knew something the rest of us don't."

"Right," Alex said. "The problem is, I don't know exactly where that project was based, or if their facility is still intact. I've been trying to get in touch with Brynn Cole all day, or someone else who might know, but comms are jammed with traffic."

Val waited for him to go on, until she realized that all of them, including Alex, were looking at her expectantly. "Well, good work," she said, needing to say something to fill the silence. "Keep on it, and let me know when you've got something."

Alex's eyebrows twitched. "Sure thing, commander," he said dryly, setting his empty glass down. "I'll just head back to the lab, then."

"Can I come?" Talitha asked, bounding out of her seat as Alex started to stand.

"Fine, just don't mess with my stuff."

"Hey, I'm a college graduate now."

"You're still my little brother's girlfriend, which makes you practically my little sister," Alex said.

They strolled off, bickering amiably. Val watched them go with an unfamiliar lurch of jealousy. It looked so easy for them, all banter and science talk. Every interaction she'd had with Alex since he'd arrived had been strained, in contrast, and she still hadn't had a chance to talk with him one on one and fix things. She frowned as the door closed behind them.

Traynor announced, "I need a refill," and popped out of her seat to trek back to the bar.

Garrus sighed. "Someone's going to have to walk her home. Or maybe carry her."

"I'll take her," Val said, still frowning as she slouched back in her seat.

"You know, you are a little like him. I can see it now."

Startled, Val turned to Garrus. "Who? Alex?"

"No. Well, you look a little alike. But I meant Shepard. John."

Val straightened up in surprise. "I didn't think we had much in common, from all you've said about him." From everything she'd read about the man, and everything Garrus and James had said about him, he seemed like a ruthless bastard.

"You're different in a lot of ways," Garrus agreed. "But you both have a way of taking charge of a situation." His eyes gleamed as he looked at her.

"Really." Val didn't feel like she'd taken charge of much, lately. Some weary, traitorous part of her wished she could keep it that way, but she doubted she'd be that lucky.

His mandibles twitched, maybe in amusement; Val couldn't quite read his expression. "Really. You both have a presence about you. It's interesting."

Val's eyebrows shot up. "A presence? What kind of presence?"

Garrus shrugged one shoulder. "You just have a way of drawing people's attention. I haven't met many people who can do that."

Val gave him a skeptical look. "I think you're imagining things."

He chuckled. "Maybe."

It was probably her imagination telling her that there was a hint of admiration in his eyes. Val sat back when Traynor returned to the table and the subject changed, her heart pounding.

She and and John Shepard were nothing alike, and he had nothing to do with her. If Talitha was right, they came from separate worlds. It might be no more than coincidence that one of them had happened to be on Eden Prime to thwart Saren's plans and get exposed to the beacon. Val might not have ever met the man, but she didn't like him much. He'd gotten several of his crew killed, he'd left Liara harsher than Val had ever imagined, and he'd left the Reapers alive. She couldn't forgive him for that, and she didn't _want_ to be compared to him. The idea that they might have anything other than circumstances in common made her feel childishly sullen.

But Garrus had followed and respected John, so the man couldn't be entirely bad news. And no matter how Val felt about that other Shepard, seeing Garrus look at her with admiration and approval still made her pulse speed up and warmth grow in her cheeks.

She'd lost the thread of whatever Traynor and Garrus were talking about. Garrus glanced at her across the table, lounging back in his seat with casual ease, and his mandibles flicked out in a grin.

He wasn't hers, Val reminded herself firmly.

She smiled back anyway and drained her glass, hoping the alcohol could account for her flush. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work is about to ramp up in intensity for me. Rest assured, the story will continue, but expect updates at 2-3 week intervals at this point. Thank you for reading, all the enthusiasm for this story means a lot to me!


	16. Chapter 15

Val said, "All I'm saying is, there are other alternatives."

Garrus's mandible flicked. "In a hurry, Shepard?"

She made a face, drumming her fingers on the battered table. Her eyes drifted around the room, to the other groups of people talking or laughing. "I don't like waiting," she admitted. "We don't know how long it's going to take Alex to get information from his contacts, or even... what?"

"Nothing," Garrus said, but he kept grinning at her, mandibles flared and eyes bright with amusement.

She let out a deep breath. Around them, the clamor of the bar covered their conversation, but they needed to keep things light. If she pressed Garrus, he was just going to offer more observations about how she was or wasn't like John Shepard, and she didn't want to hear it. Every comparison heated her irritation. Probably John didn't try to hash out their options the way she was doing. Once upon a time, Val might have chosen a course of action more easily, but in this new environment, she still felt out of step. Probably John didn't fidget as much as she did, either. Deliberately, Val settled her shoulders and put her hands in her lap, lacing her fingers together to still them.

"Fine," Garrus said, relenting at her stony look. "You're right, it might take a while to track down that Cerberus facility Alex was talking about. But what do you suggest we do? You and I both have duties here. You've already asked Traynor to keep an eye out for this Dr. Bryson. What else?"

Underneath the table, Val's hands tightened together. "Liara. She has an orb, I'm sure of it. Or it has her."

Garrus leaned back, his mandibles drawing in tight to his jaw. "Maybe she does, and maybe it was Shepard's. How do you propose to go about getting it?"

Val shrugged. "Break in and have a look around. Isn't that one of your specialties?"

His brow plates twitched. "Interesting that you would think that." His eyes shifted to the side, taking in the bar around them. "You do know who she is, right?"

"You don't think we can crack her security, is that it?"

"I'm not sure what kind of security she has." Garrus's mandibles twitched. "Besides, she considers me a friend. I could just go see her."

"You think that would still work after our last visit?"

Garrus tilted his head down, mandibles flexing. "Point. Maybe, maybe not. Liara can be unpredictable."

"Unpredictable how? Val asked. Thinking about Liara's cold eyes and pointed intrusion into her mind made her feel off balance. Garrus and James and even Traynor didn't seem so different in this universe; why was Liara so different?

"Maybe Alex has come up with something that can detect the orbs," Garrus said thoughtfully, as if he hadn't heard her.

"That would be nice," Val muttered, frowning. She'd hardly seen Alex in the last two days. He surfaced for breakfast and dinners, gulping down huge quantities of coffee at each meal, but he didn't say much about what he was working on. Mama had been too delighted with Talitha's presence to prod him for details. She was so delighted, in fact, that Talitha herself hardly got a word in edgewise, even to answer Mama's questions, so Val hadn't gotten any update on their work from Talitha, either. She'd replaced Traynor as Alex's research assistant, since the new surge in communications traffic kept Traynor busy at her primary job. Val wasn't sure whether Talitha had volunteered, or whether Alex had conscripted her. Either way, the two of them spent most of their time hunkered down in the lab.

Traynor had apologized profusely about not being able to work on the project, but her darting eyes and fidgeting made Val think Traynor wanted to keep her distance from the lab, and the orb in it. Honestly, Val couldn't blame her.

"Yo, Scars, Blondie, what's shaking?"

Val started guiltily as James strolled up, looming over Garrus's shoulder. She fumbled for something to say.

Garrus recovered first. "Jimmy," he said genially. "You know the drill, we're all drowning in paperwork."

"I hear that." James plunked his glass down on the table and took a seat. "Whole mass relay thing is pretty loco, huh? Who knew the Reapers were gonna give us that big a hand, huh?"

"It's hard to believe," Val said. "And I told you to lay off the hair nicknames."

"Sure thing, boss," he replied, too easily. He took a drink and propped one elbow on the table. "So, nothing going on you wanna tell me about, huh?"

Shit. Val thought back quickly over the last few days. She and Garrus had been hanging out with James most evenings, and then there'd been the night at the lab. From his point of view, they must have disappeared.

James could play the meathead musclebound marine all he liked, but beneath the casual exterior lay sharper eyes than most people gave him credit for. Val couldn't let herself forget that. Conscious of the glint in his eyes, Val shrugged and did her best to slouch in her seat like she didn't have a care in the world. "Not much to tell. Lot of new people around, lots of work keeping track of them." _Please, please buy it_ , she begged him silently.

"Uh-huh." He leaned back, taking a long swig from his glass. "I see how it is. Don't do me any favors. You don't gotta tell me nothing. Thought we made a pretty good team, that's all."

"We do," she said wholeheartedly, because it was true. All bluster and bravado and shitty nicknames aside, James Vega was a good marine: solid as a rock, and far cannier than he looked. Which was, of course, the whole reason they were having this conversation. Val grasped for something that might make sense. "Listen, I know I haven't been around as much the last couple days. Besides the work, between my brother arriving and my other brother's girlfriend getting here, I've been kind of tied up with family." Literally, for a few hours.

James's posture relaxed a little. "Yeah, family stuff. I get that," he allowed.

"Next time I get an assignment, you're first on my list," Val promised.

"Better be," James said, but his good humor seemed revived. "Where is your brother, anyway?"

Val sighed. "Probably in his lab. If he's not with us, he's working." Which also gave him a convenient excuse to avoid her.

James chuckled. "Right, one of those obsessive egghead types. Kinda like Scars, huh?" He smirked at Garrus.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Garrus replied dryly.

"C'mon, Scars, how much time did you spend in the battery workin' on those guns?"

"Some of us like our weapons to be in top condition," Garrus said.

James grinned and flexed his arm. "Only one weapon I need to be in top condition."

Garrus heaved an exaggerated sigh, while Val laughed out loud. "You gave him that opening," she told him.

The two men launched into their usual game of banter and showing off, as if nothing had changed. Val smiled and settled back into her seat, letting the conversation wash over her.

The longer they went on, though, the more she felt tension creep back into her muscles. Keeping her casual posture became more of an effort, and her foot started tapping restlessly under the table. It all felt like an act, a bad imitation of the easy camaraderie the three of them had had a few days earlier. She could put on a smile and laugh at James's stories, but her face felt stretched tight, and her unfinished conversation with Garrus pressed in on the back of her mind. Telling her story to Alex and Garrus had lifted the burden of pretending she fit in, but only for a while. It hadn't clarified what her goal was now. Val was right back to waiting, this time, waiting for Alex to come up with a solution to her problem.

She hated it. She hated waiting, and more than that, she hated feeling dependent on Alex's contacts and mercurial temper. The waiting stifled her, made her want to run somewhere or hit something, and her daily training sessions didn't take the edge off.

Garrus's caution made her want to punch something, too. They _had_ to go after Liara's orb, didn't they? If the Leviathan had control of Liara, they had access to all her contacts, and who knew what kind of information they'd gotten from her, or how they might use it? Get Liara free of the Leviathan's influence, and she could help them.

Assuming she was willing, at least.

If either James or Garrus thought that their conversation seemed strained, or that Val seemed unusually quiet, neither showed it. They said their farewells after a couple of hours, Garrus returning to the turian camp and Val setting out for the Alliance camp, with James sauntering alongside.

James seemed content to walk without talking, humming something under his breath. Not inclined to chat herself, Val found her mind drifting back to the problem of Liara. Besides the practical considerations that Liara could be a dangerous enemy and a valuable ally... the truth was, Val hated the idea of Liara under Leviathan control. The harsher, colder Liara she'd met, the one who'd ruthlessly rooted through Val's mind — that couldn't be the real Liara. If there was any chance they could free her and get the real Liara back, that alone would be worth the effort.

The more pragmatic reasons might better persuade Garrus, though, and Val didn't stand a chance of getting through Liara's security on her own.

Still lost in thought, she waved at the gate guard as she and James entered, flashing their IDs.

"How're all those biotic classes going?" James asked.

"Fine." Val shrugged and put on a cheerful tone. "Not something I have a lot of experience with, but I'll whip 'em into shape yet."

James chuckled. "I believe it, seein' you in action. Can't say I know much about biotics, but what you did to those geth... damn."

Val chuckled, getting a certain smug enjoyment out of James's admiration. Thinking back to that fight almost made her feel wistful. In spite of the hour, clusters of people lined the paths of the camp, standing or lounging around in groups. So many newcomers had arrived that the barracks were full, and the weather was mild enough that people gathered outside for their social time, surrounding them with the low murmur of conversation. Here and there Val glimpsed the dull orange light of an omni-tool interface, or the tiny glow of a cigarette.

She half turned toward James, about to reply. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark shape moving toward her from behind, and the quick flare of an omni-tool lighting.

Maybe it was because they were talking about biotics; maybe it was Traynor's attack, only two days earlier, that had her reflexes on a hair trigger.

Either way, her eyes registered the omni-blade and she acted on instinct before her brain registered the thought: _knife_. Val's corona flared around her, garishly blue in the dim light. James jerked back in surprise. In the same moment, Val pivoted toward the person who'd been coming up behind her: a young man with a arm raised to attack.

She gathered up the dark energy coalescing around her in both hands and shoved it at him. He flew back four meters or so, slamming into the ground on his back, but somehow bounced back onto his feet and dashed toward her, zigging. Around them, people called out and jumped up, but Val stayed focused on the man in front of her, sprinting toward her with teeth bared. She dodged right as he aimed the knife at her left. He collided with her, his hard weight slamming into her shoulder, but she didn't feel the sting of the blade.

Then James got a hand on the man, twisting his arms behind his back and pulling him away from Val. "You okay, Commander?"

She took a breath, trying to settle her nerves. Her heart still pounded hard and her blood sang in her ears. "I'm fine. He's got a knife."

James twisted his arm. The man yelped as his omni-tool fell to the ground with a soft thud. "Not any more, he don't. What the hell is going on?"

Val stooped to pick up the 'tool — a totally ordinary, average model, as far as she could tell. The omni-blade had dissolved as the tool shut down, flash-fabricated for the moment. She'd heard Garrus complaining about the difficulty of tracing omni-blades used in crimes before. Her heart still thumping, she took a closer look at the man struggling ineffectually in James's grip. Pale and dark-haired, he was thin, no match for James at all; his eyes rolled away from Val as she approached, then shifted toward her sidelong while his lips pulled back from his teeth.

"Who sent you?" she asked urgently, conscious of the crowd gathering around them.

The man's eyes flicked toward her again, and his face twisted. "You'll ruin everything," he hissed.

Her stomach dropped, adrenalin still buzzing through her system. Another Leviathan thrall. "How?" she demanded, knowing she didn't have much time. James was already frowning at he over his captive's head.

The man's lip curled, and he turned his face away, still squirming uselessly. Sure enough, a couple of MPs pushed their way through the murmuring people, the lead one calling out, "What's going on here?"

"Asshole tried to stab the commander here," James called back before Val could say anything.

Val stepped back and took a swift look around. She couldn't see an orb anywhere, but that didn't mean anything. Plenty of the people around her carried packs big enough to hide an orb in. No telling what was in the windowless buildings around them. A Leviathan artifact could be hidden anywhere.

"Is that true, Commander?"

She focused on the MP's earnest, frowning face and said, reluctantly, "Yes, it is."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" the other MP asked the would-be assassin, pulling out a pair of magnetic cuffs.

"She doesn't belong here," the man snarled. "She shouldn't be here."

The MPs exchanged glances. James let them take charge of his prisoner. As one of the MPs cuffed the prisoner, the other activated his omni-tool and started a routine series of questions. When had she noticed the attacker, how had he attacked, what was he armed with. Val handed over the omni-tool and answered mechanically. As the adrenalin left her system, she felt blank, almost detached from the situation. No, she didn't recognize the man; she'd never seen him before. No, she didn't know why he might want to hurt her. Sure, she had people with grudges against her; most officers did. The attacker didn't look like anyone she'd had under her command. Part of her wondered how she looked on the omni-tool's recording; part of her wondered which of the people milling around them might be carrying the Leviathan orb. She stepped back and stood silent as James answered the same set of questions. His version had a lot more detail and gesturing, as he mimed the action.

"Loco," James murmured once the questions were done, as they watched the MPs haul the struggling man away.

"Yeah," Val said absently. _Liara_ , she thought, with a renewed surge of fury. She had to be connected to this. The orb in Alex's lab was secured — Val could trust that much — but there had to be one in Liara's quarters. She could be doing anything with it.

It could be doing anything to her.

"Hey! Earth to Commander Shepard!"

Val blinked as James waved a hand in her face. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, why would some crazy guy have it in for you?"

"How should I know, if he's crazy?" Val asked. "Sorry, I should go." No matter what Garrus thought, she could at least duck out to Liara's place and have a quick look around. Assuming she could find a vehicle at this hour. Maybe she could pull rank and get a night-duty guard to sign one out to her. She turned and started toward the vehicle pool.

"Go where?" James kept pace with her. "What the hell, it's too late for this shit."

"Yeah, it is," Val said, preoccupied. "Go on and go to bed, James, don't worry about it."

"Like fuck." James took one long step to angle in front of Val, blocking her path with all his height and breadth. "What's going on?"

Val hesitated, brought up short. For a moment she weighed the merits of telling the truth against manufacturing another story.

But she remembered James's face earlier in the evening — suspicious, and genuinely hurt to be left out — and besides, she was tired of inventing lies. She gave up and told the truth. "I want to see if Liara's home."

"T'soni?" James frowned. "Why, you wanna talk to her or something?"

Talking to Liara was one of the things Val wanted to do. "Not really." Val sidestepped to move around him.

James fell in beside her once again. "Then why you wanna go all the way out there? At this hour?"

Telling the truth was one thing; telling the _whole_ truth was another, and would take too long anyway. "It's a long story."

"You're gonna need a car," James pointed out.

"Good observation," Val said dryly.

"So happens I've got a key," he said with a smirk.

Val stopped in her tracks and smiled back at him. "Want to go for a ride, Vega?"

James grinned, and together they set off in long, ground-eating strides. With a plan, a direction, and an ally at her side, Val felt freed to move, all the frustration and anxiety of the last days and weeks propelling her forward. James matched her pace easily, in such accord that they needed no more words. James made for the driver's side as soon as they reached the ground car, flashing Val a challenging look over the car. She gave in, fidgeting at the passenger's side for a second while he unlocked the vehicle and slid into the seat.

James took the main road out of camp, back toward the city. Strapped into the seat, Val found herself tapping her fingers against the door and jiggling her knee up and down, her desire to _move_ coming out in fidgety vibration. For lack of anything better to do, she broke the silence. "Do you know Liara well?"

"Hell no," James replied. "I mean, sure, we fought side by side, but she wasn't exactly chatty, y'know?"

Val hesitated, trying to square that judgment with her memories of Liara, who'd always seemed forthcoming. With her, at least. "I'm sure she had a lot on her mind."

"Oh, no shit. I mean, she was one of the _Normandy_ 's worst-kept secrets. Everyone on board knew she's the Shadow Broker, right? She's got reasons to keep her mouth shut. Still. Vakarian, you could talk to. T'soni, not so much."

"Really?" This didn't fit with Val's memories at all. Liara could be quiet, but she liked talking to people. She liked listening, drawing people out, and she had a sly, gentle sense of humor once you got to know her.

"Oh yeah," James said readily. "She was almost always with Shepard or in that creepy office of hers. Hardly smiled. Not that much to smile about, I guess, but damn."

"Huh." Val settled into her seat, frowning. How could Liara be so different? Was it John Shepard's influence? Had it been the Leviathan, during the whole war? She couldn't even imagine what the Leviathan could do with long-term access to the Shadow Broker's secrets, and the thought made her feel cold.

"Saw her just execute some Cerberus goons once, too." James shook his head. "Asked 'em one question, then bam, shot to the head, cool as anything."

"What was the question?" Val asked, her heart rate ticking up.

"Couldn't hear."

Val chewed on her lower lip, wishing she hadn't asked. James seemed content to let the conversation end there, so she lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive, except to point him in the right direction.

"This the place?" James asked, slowing the car.

"Yeah, I think so." Val peered out the window, frowning as she tried to match the place to her memories. It had only been a couple nights earlier, but it felt longer.

Besides, she'd been a little preoccupied at the time.

The building looked right, but no lights were visible. It wasn't _that_ late, and Liara tended to be a night owl. Or at least, Val thought she did. It might be dangerous to make that assumption. Uncertainty crept into her mind as she stared out into the darkness.

James shifted in his seat. "You wanna go in or something?"

"No." Garrus was going to be annoyed she'd come out here at all. Val rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Back in camp, she'd been so certain Liara had sent the assassin, and that certainty and anger had pushed her into movement. Now that she was here, the anger had faded, leaving her hollowed-out and tired, with a crawling sensation crept its way down her spine. The place was too quiet, and too dark. She couldn't see anyone, but she couldn't shake the sense that eyes might be watching out of the surrounding darkness.

"You want me to go knock?" James asked after a few minutes.

Val almost said no again. But Liara shouldn't see James as a threat, should she? As far as Liara knew, James was a fellow crew member with no connection to Val Shepard at all. "Do it," she said, shrinking down further and hoping she couldn't be seen through the window.

James opened the door and left the car, sauntering up to the front walk like he hadn't a care in the world. Val envied him. Once he got to the door, he put a hand out and seemed to start. Unable to make out what he was doing, Val tensed.

He turned around almost immediately, though, and came back to the car. "You sure this is the right place? No one's home."

A chill shook Val to the core. "What? Are you sure?"

"Door's not even locked."

Shit. Val climbed out of the car and ran toward the door. James was right, of course; the door opened easily to a nearly empty room. Val stalked in, wondering for a heart-stopping moment if she was in the wrong place, after all.

But a couple of those narrow, hard chairs remained. Slowly, Val pushed one into the center of the room, glancing at the corners of the room to gauge her placement.

As soon as she sat down, she was sure she had it right. She remembered the hard feel of seat under her; she remembered sitting right _there_ , with Liara's eyes boring into hers, Liara's mind pressing in on hers. A phantom headache rippled through her skull. She shook her head and jumped out of the chair, unable to get away from the remembered pain fast enough.

James watched her with a furrowed brow. Val walked away before he could ask any questions, striding into the back rooms. There was a small bedroom, empty of everything except a bed stripped bare, and another room where a couple of power cables lay abandoned on the floor in forlorn coils. Val pivoted, imagining Liara's office, surrounded by screens, data storage, extranet connections. Had she kept the orb here? Or in her bedroom, within reach as she fell asleep? Val shuddered at the thought.

Wherever it had been, whatever Liara had done here, these rooms held nothing now.

"Guess Doc moved on?" James said from the doorway.

"I guess so." Val took a last look around in the light of her omni-tool. With the relays operational, Liara could have gone anywhere. She, of all people, would have the contacts and resources to go wherever she pleased. "All right, let's go back. We're not learning anything more here."

"Didn't learn anything in the first place," James muttered, as Val slid past him into the hallway.

She chose not to answer.

#

"You went to Liara's?" Garrus demanded. His mandibles flexed.

"I just told you she wasn't there," Val pointed out.

"And you're absolutely certain she didn't have surveillance on the site?"

Val took a deep breath, thinking back. She'd thought that sense of being watched was pure paranoia. Neither she or James had seen any signs of surveillance equipment, but they might have missed something. She hesitated, cold uncertainty weighing her down.

"That's what I thought." Garrus sat back, lifting his jaw. He looked positively smug, for a turian. Val gritted her teeth.

"It doesn't make much difference if she's sending goons after me, anyway."

Garrus made a noise in his throat. His mandibles twitched again. "I'm not sure it's safe for you on this planet."

Val shrugged, deliberately pushing the uncertainty away. If another assassin showed up, at this point she'd be grateful for the fight, and the chance at information. "I've been fine so far."

Garrus made a low noise again, almost a growl.

"I can handle it," Val said, her voice rising. Her fists tightened. She was perfectly capable of handling herself. They barely knew each other; he didn't have a right to go protective over her like that.

Garrus glared across the table at her and opened his mouth to reply, but Alex appeared at his elbow before he got any words out. "Hey," he said, planting a chipped mug on the table and pulling back a chair.

Val let out a breath, trying to shed her defensive frustration. Alex's hair was rumpled, his eyes ringed with purple, but at least he'd voluntarily showed up to talk to her. "Look who's surfaced from the lab," she said, keeping her tone light. "Find out anything?"

"Yeah." Alex perched in his seat with his elbows planted on the table and his shoulders hunched, eyes bright with an almost manic enthusiasm. "I've been reviewing the readings with what happened to Traynor. I think the orb works on a quantum principle."

"What, like a QEC?" Garrus asked.

Alex nodded rapidly. "Exactly. Which doesn't exactly help, since we can't trace the location of the other half of the quantum-entangled pair. But it gives me some insight into how communication might occur through the object, and that should be a first step to figuring out how they're doing it."

"That's great," Val said, sincerely, but added pointedly, "I was more wondering if you'd gotten a lead on that facility, though."

"Oh. Yeah." Alex took a drink and leaned back in his chair. His excitement faded, his expression falling into blandness. "I got a message from Brynn earlier today. She talked to some people, they talked to some people, our best guess is it's on Luna. I've got coordinates."

After all this time, Cerberus' capabilities shouldn't surprise her any more, but Val couldn't escape a kind of weary, irritated wonder. "Luna? How did Cerberus hide a facility under the Alliance's nose?"

"You do realize the Illusive Man pays a lot of people off, right?" Alex said. "Or paid. Whatever." He took another drink.

Garrus snorted.

Val shook her head, her irritation rising again. So like Alex, to get hung up on his project and forget the more important mission. "If you heard something earlier today, why didn't you say anything?"

Alex scowled at her. "I was doing actual work. Does it make a difference?"

She glared back, seething. A few hours' delay didn't make a real difference, she supposed, but the fact that Alex had sat on the information, distracted with his experiments, grated. They needed that information to go forward.

Arguing with him about it wasn't likely to get her anywhere, though. "All right," she said, trying to put her irritation aside and form a plan. "We could go check it out—"

"We?" Alex murmured over his mug.

"Except that we all have duties here," Garrus said.

"Right, and we're also going to need a ship," Val said. Those were the two major obstacles she could see, and she hadn't quite solved either of them. If she could contrive a legitimate reason to go to Luna, the Alliance might authorize her travel, even assign her a ship... but she hadn't managed to contrive a plausible-sounding reason yet. Going AWOL and stealing a vessel would definitely cut her ties to the Alliance, something she'd rather not do if she could avoid it.

"What did you use to get here?" Garrus asked Alex.

Alex took another drink. "One of those little two-man shuttles. I liberated it from Cerberus."

"I suppose two of us could go," Val said, a little doubtfully. Even with the relays active, it would be a long trip in tight quarters.

"Not a great plan, tactically speaking. Though that seems to be a specialty of yours," Garrus said.

Annoyed, Val narrowed her eyes at him from across the table. Garrus returned her stare with a flick of his left mandible.

"Oookay," Alex said, glancing from one of them to the other. "Doesn't matter anyway, the Alliance impounded the thing after I got here."

Val exhaled, contemplating the prospect of stealing the ship. Maybe the time had come? But... if she did that, and then managed to get back to her own dimension, she'd leave her other self facing major charges. That idea didn't sit right with her; she didn't want to create problems that the other Val Shepard would have to solve.

"As it happens," Garrus said, looking annoyingly pleased with himself again. "I think I have an idea."


	17. Chapter 16

“I’m requesting Commander Shepard’s assistance for a special assignment,” Garrus said to Major Coats. “Specialist Shepard, as well.”

Coats’s eyes narrowed. He shot Val a quick, hard glance.

She did her best to keep her face neutral. The spectacle of Garrus drawn up to his full height, chin lifted and hands clasped behind him, the very picture of a haughty turian, didn’t help.

“Of course,” Coats said stiffly. “We’re glad to cooperate with our friends in the Hierarchy.”

Garrus nodded in one crisp movement.

“Can I inquire as to the nature of this special assignment?” Coats asked warily.

“Afraid not,” Garrus said blandly. “That information’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Val could almost hear Coats’ teeth grinding. “You’re borrowing my people,” he pointed out, through his teeth.

“I’m aware.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. A muscle pulsed in the side of Coats’ jaw. “Fine,” he ground out. “Can I have a word with the staff commander?”

“Sure thing,” Garrus said amiably, and pivoted to depart, barely casting a glance at Val as he went. She stiffened as Coats turned a glare hot with frustration on her.

“I told you involving a turian was going to cause trouble,” he growled.

“Sir,” Val replied, for lack of anything better to say.

He blew out a sigh, bracing both hands on his desk. “This is about that damned artifact you found, isn’t it?”

“I can’t say, sir,” Val said carefully.

Coats’ gaze hardened. “Are you taking it with you?”

“Haven’t discussed anything of the kind, sir.” That much wasn’t a lie, at least.

“Well, if you can deal with the thing, good riddance,” he muttered. “Go on, get out of here. Keep your eyes open and give me a full and thorough report when you’re back, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said with relief, and left before Coats could call her back.

Garrus, not surprisingly, was lounging against the wall, arms crossed, letting the covert stares of passersby slide off him like water. “Did the good major give you any trouble?”

“No, but he’s not happy.”

“What a surprise.” Garrus pushed off the wall and fell into step beside her, strides long and easy. Val adjusted her own pace to keep up, stretching her legs a little. “Most officers love having their subordinates conscripted without warning.”

“So this was your big plan?” she asked skeptically.

His mandibles flared in a grin. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“We still need a ship,” she reminded him. “I’m also not sure how you got clearance from the Hierarchy to take off like this.”  


“That’s taken care of, too,” he said. “Don’t worry about the rest of it.”

Val frowned, shooting Garrus a dark look. She didn’t want to leave her other self with a mess to clean up, and she didn’t want to jeopardize Garrus’s position, either.

Garrus chuckled. “Officially, I’m investigating a possible survival of Cerberus. That’s even partly true. The Hierarchy has an interest in making sure Cerberus doesn’t gain any ground.”

“I can understand that,” Val admitted. Even with the Illusive Man dead, Cerberus had to have a lot of resources and projects unaccounted for. Any of them could still be dangerous.

“Honestly...” Garrus’s tone lowered, his subvocals growing rougher. “The Hierarchy’s also got a lot of questions about how exactly Cerberus got that powerful. They fielded an army, more or less, and had a substantial complement of cruisers and troop carriers, according to our intelligence. A lot of turians can’t believe the Alliance had nothing to do with that.”

Val grimaced. “The Illusive Man had his fingers just about everywhere, as far as I could tell. I’m not sure where all the money came from, but he must have had interests in major Alliance contractors.”

“I guessed that when the second _Normandy_ showed up,” Garrus said dryly. “What’s left of them has been in disarray since the end of the war, as far as we can tell. Let’s hope they stay that way.”

“Agreed.” They had more than enough to deal with without Cerberus being involved, as far as Val was concerned.

#

“You’re both going?” Mama exclaimed, in a shocked tone that made Val’s skin crawl with guilt.

She’d known as soon as they started putting the plan together that this was going to be the hardest part. She was the one with the problem, and Alex was the one best equipped to solve it, so they both had to go, and Val didn’t know how her mother was going to react to that. The uncertainty left her feeling unsteady, and her mother’s desolate expression made her stomach tighten with worry.

“Sorry, Mama,” she said, offering an apologetic smile. “Orders.” She had to hope her mother wouldn’t see through the lie.

“But both of you? You’re not even military, Sasha!”

Alex shrugged with his hands still stuffed in his pockets. “I’m working for the military anyway, so it’s more or less the same.”

“What am I going to do without you?” Mama demanded, folding her arms. Her mouth turned down, almost pouting. Her lips quivered slightly.

Val had no idea what to say. How was a good-bye like this supposed to go? She shifted her weight from foot to foot and hesitated, her mouth half-open, trying to come up with something suitably reassuring. All her verbal skills seemed to have deserted her. She’d never _had_ to say good-bye to her mother before.

Alex saved her with an impatient noise. “You’re going to be fine, Mama. This won’t even take that long. We’ll be back within a couple of weeks.”

Mama sniffed and grabbed Val in a hug that nearly squeezed the air from her lungs. She staggered when Mama let go and grabbed Alex in turn.

“Look after each other!” Mama called, waving frantically as they shouldered their bags and headed for the ship.

Val did her best to smile and wave back, conscious of Alex marching stiffly along at her side. Garrus had gone ahead for last inspections, so she had a few minutes alone with Alex, but he was so resolutely looking away from her that it seemed impossible to breach the bristling silence. She thought about speaking half a dozen times, and second-guessed herself every time, afraid anything she might say would only make things worse. The turian reconnaissance ship Garrus had secured waited for them in the landing zone outside of camp. The ship was nondescript and slightly battered, but, according to Garrus, had near-state-of-the-art stealth technology, and plenty of room for three people. Alex trudged toward it as if he were on his way to a cell. Daunted by his mood, Val held her peace until the ship’s airlock cycled. As they stepped into the interior corridor, she settled for saying, “Thanks for not letting on to Mama what’s going on.”

Alex snorted, glancing around. “Like I’m going to tell her you’re not her real daughter.”

The words stung enough that Val flinched. She wanted to deny them, but she didn’t think she’d get anywhere. Not in Alex’s current mood, and not since they’d concluded she’d come from another universe. Instead she said, “If they do have some kind of trans-dimensional technology, and I don’t come back—”

Alex looked at her for the first time that day. “Let’s not jump the gun, okay?” He ticked off points on his fingers. “First off, chances are there’s nothing there. Second, if there _is_ anything there, it’s going to be a partially working prototype, at best. Maybe just schematics. We’re not going to open up some kind of magic portal and poof you back like in a kids’ story. It’s going to take a while to get anything operational.”

Val took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. “Right. Listen, Alex—”

“I know we’re stuck here for a while,” he interrupted. “That doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re really brother and sister.”

Val blew out a breath, fed up with his attitude. She snapped, “I haven’t done anything to you. What exactly is your problem?”

“Except for lying to me,” he fired back.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me, and you didn’t—”

He raised his voice, cutting her off. “And because of you, my actual sister is stuck in some alternate dimension somewhere. Or dead. Excuse me if I don’t feel like being pals.”

The words were like a blast of cold water, cooling her anger. Val opened her mouth and hesitated, unsure what to say. In her silence, Alex turned on his heel and headed down the corridor, stepping into one of the open berths. The hatch slid shut with a _snick_.

“Alex, I’m sorry,” she said, stepping toward the closed hatch and hoping she was speaking loudly enough to be heard.

“Everything okay?” Garrus asked, stepping out of a doorway on the other side of the corridor.

Staring at the closed hatch, she said, “It’s fine.”

“... Right,” Garrus said.

Val turned around, to find Garrus only about arm’s-length away, looming tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, and filling the width of the corridor with his armored bulk. Her heart rate ticked up a notch from the sheer proximity. She put on a smile that felt tight and brittle. “I guess he’s chosen that one.”

Garrus laughed a little. “Guess so.” He scratched at his mandible, and then seemed to realize that he was standing between her and the next hatch, and took a hasty half step back. “Take whichever you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Val said.

She still had to slip close to him to get through the hatch and drop her duffel. The phantom memory of other times she’d been that close, teasingly, casually, affectionately close, chased her in as the hatch closed behind her. Val took a deep breath to settle herself, but her heart still pounded as if she’d been running a mile.

#

Garrus swore the ship was designed for a crew complement of six. Even so, with the three of them, plus the ghosts of Garrus’s affection and Alex’s resentment, the ship seemed far too small. Each of them had a cabin to themselves, at least (each with one unoccupied bunk), but the cockpit and engine room were both tiny, and even the exercise space and crew lounge felt cramped with the three of them there.

The first time Val stepped into the galley, she found Garrus already busy preparing his meal, the air rich with the scent of coffee and some turian fruit that Val couldn’t remember the name of, but that smelled achingly familiar.

“I made coffee,” he said by way of greeting. “You humans live on the stuff, right?”

“Some of us more than others,” she said. By the look of the pot, Alex had already grabbed a mug and disappeared back into his cabin. “But thanks.”

It proved impossible, somehow, to acquire her own breakfast without bumping into Garrus more than once, and then there he sat, stretching out long legs. There were only two small tables, and it seemed rude to sit at the other one, so Val joined him.

“Shepard wasn’t much for morning conversation,” he said as she sipped her coffee.

“Mm.”

He chuckled. “You’re the same, I see.”

“Still waking up,” she said, which true, if only half the truth. She wished he hadn’t brought up John Shepard again, but since he had... “I take it you and he were close?”

Garrus shrugged. “We’ve been through some bad spots together.” He tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “But I guess that’s true of you and me, too. Your version of me.”

Val swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Adversity brings people together, isn’t that what they say? But we always got along, even before things got heavy. Used to have a little competition to see who could get the most headshots on geth.”

“Who won?” Val asked, intrigued.

“Who would you think?” Garrus asked, mandibles flicking out in a grin.

She took another sip. “You? Or, wait...” she added, seeing him look down.

“I’m flattered, but no,” Garrus admitted. “Not by much, though.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “You’re not a sniper.”

“No.” Chewing the last of her toast, she sat back in her chair. “I’m not a bad shot, but I like to get in close.”

Garrus made a clicking noise. “Too easy to hit the target then. No challenge to it. I haven’t seen a lot of humans with biotics like yours, though.”

Val shrugged. “I get that a lot.” She’d always stood out, even though there were few enough human biotics: she had more raw power than most L3s, but with less finesse, and the new implant Cerberus had installed only enhanced her natural tendency. Absently, she rubbed the amp socket at the base of her skull.

“So I guess you didn’t have as much in common with the other Garrus Vakarian.”

Her heart rate ticked up a notch. Watching the swirling blue interface of Garrus’s visor, she said, “I don’t know. I always thought we made a good team. Filled in for each other’s weaknesses.”

She almost held her breath, waiting for his response. Garrus regarded her for another moment before saying, “Hn. Yeah, I could see that.”

Val let the breath out, slowly. The conversation turned to other subjects, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d given something away.

The next time she entered the galley, Alex sat hunched at a table, scowling at his omni-tool.

It felt awkward to say anything, but even more awkward not to. Val settled for saying a wary, “Hey.” 

Alex glanced up and just as quickly glanced down, hunching into himself.

Val suppressed a sigh, hesitating. If he were a crew member, she would have plunked herself right down opposite him and taken this opportunity to draw him out. She’d done it before; she’d had plenty of subordinates who weren’t exactly open books.

But he wasn’t crew, wasn’t truly her subordinate. He both was and wasn’t her brother. She’d known how to talk to Alex when they were sixteen and twelve, but those conversations were nearly two decades and a universe away. As much as she ached for the connection she’d lost, that old relationship didn’t seem much help now.

Deliberately, she walked over to the counter and reached for the coffee pot. “Do you want more coffee?”

Two seconds passed before he replied, terse and low-voiced. “Sure.”

She brought a fresh mug over. Alex took it with a wary look. He gulped half of it down, fixing his gaze back on his omni-tool, cast her another hunted look, and then slunk out of his seat and back to his cabin without another word.

Val blew out a breath in irritation and finished the coffee. Let him brew the next pot himself, if he wanted more.

Dinner was an even more awkward affair, the three of them jostling elbows or elaborately moving around each other while they heated up their rations. Garrus attempted to draw Alex into conversation, but he only answered in monosyllables, leaving the talk stilted as he stared into his food. Val excused herself early, to escape the strain, although she hoped, as she left, that the two of them would talk a little more without her there. Maybe Garrus could talk Alex into a more reasonable mood.

After a few hours of sleep and an automated relay jump, restlessness drove Val out of her cabin again. There was only so long she could stand being cooped up in those four plain walls. She’d only been on Terra Nova for a few weeks, but already she missed the fresh air, and the jolt of the ground under her feet as she ran. She even missed her biotics training sessions, somewhat to her surprise. She might not have taken them on voluntarily, but she’d gotten used to having her trainees show up, and seeing them progress. The day or so she’d been away already felt like a week.

Hoping to work out some of the kinks in her muscles and clear her mind, she headed to the exercise room. She stopped short in the doorway, seeing Garrus already there, wearing close-fitting black workout clothes.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’m sure we can share.”

Val looked dubiously around. It was the largest open area on the ship, no great surprise. Even so, that didn’t make it a _large_ space. The turian crew couldn’t have had more than two or three people in there at once. Still, she might as well make the best of it. “Mind if I run?” she asked, nodding toward the treadmill.

“Go ahead.”

With the help of her omni-tool, Val managed to figure out the interface, and started off at an, easy pace. Like most treadmills, this one provided a virtual display of scenery, some planet she didn’t recognize. She’d never found such displays a good substitute for the real thing, but at least she could lose herself in the pleasure of moving.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garrus put down the weight set he’d been using, and take up a stance in the open center of the room. He was practicing forms, Val realized after a moment, moving fluidly from one stance to another. Slow at first, but gradually speeding up, practicing the powerful kicks and punches typical of turian martial arts. He looked smaller, out of armor and in a sleek black suit; smaller, but she still knew the lines of his body, how he moved. A flush crawled up her cheeks.

She turned up the resistance on the machine and ran faster, trying to immerse herself in the alien landscape scrolling across the display and shut out the glimpses of Garrus moving through his workout behind her.

When Val finally slowed to a stop, panting and covered in sweat, Garrus said, “We could spar, if you need to work off more energy.”

She turned and stared at him in surprise. _Sparring_? Now?  As hard as she tried, she couldn’t tell if there was any suggestive undertone in his voice, and his stance seemed perfectly casual.

Val pressed her lips together to keep herself from asking _how many rounds?_ or saying anything about a tiebreaker. He probably didn’t mean anything other than sparring. He looked relaxed and calm, standing at a perfectly respectful distance. The tension, the heat she could feel shimmering in the air between them — that was probably all her, projecting her own complicated longing on to him. Garrus had been nothing but pleasantly friendly ever since he’d decided that her story was for real. She’d latched onto that friendliness in relief.

It was too easy — dangerously easy — to fall into that camaraderie, like a comfortable set of clothes. To let herself slide, and forget that the whole purpose of this mission was to find a way back to her own... dimension or universe or whatever it was. The place where her own Garrus still lived — she hoped. The one who shared her memories, who’d danced with her, who’d shouldered her burdens with her, who’d asked her to be a one-turian woman. They two of them had sparred, often enough, the heat and play and contact of the workout sometimes turning into something else entirely. She could remember, sharp and clear, the taste of his kisses, the subtly rough feel of his body against her skin.

Sparring now sounded like a _terrible_ idea.

“Sorry,” she heard herself say. “I’m just going to clean up and get some rest, I think.”

She thought that she saw the tiniest hint of disappointment as she turned — something about the angle of his head, or the tilt of his mandibles.

It was probably no more than her imagination.

Strictly professional, she told herself. She had to treat this like a mission, and she had to make sure her teammates were on the same page. For the rest of the trip, Val half wished she’d stayed behind on Terra Nova. She tried her best to be scrupulously professional and polite around Garrus. She avoided using the gym if he was anywhere near it. For his part, Alex tried to avoid her, ducking out of any space she entered as soon as possible. Not long after they’d transited the Charon relay, with their landing only hours away, Val found Alex in the galley getting coffee and stopped him before he could make his escape.

“Tell me one thing,” she said. “Do you know how to use that gun of yours?” She knew what to expect from Garrus in a fight, but Alex was an unknown quantity.

Alex’s eyebrows went up. For a moment he looked startled and wide-eyed, and then his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Val suppressed a sigh. If he was going to act like a recalcitrant crew member, she would have to treat him like one. She said firmly, “You don’t have to like me, but I need to know you can handle yourself if something goes wrong down there.”

His expression tightened. “I know how to use a pistol.”

“That’s great,” she said. “Very informative. How well?”

He lifted his chin. “I got the drop on you, didn’t I? I can take care of myself.”

Her lips pulled into a thin smile. He was going to hold that one over her forever, wasn’t he? It was true, but she wasn’t about to let that memory rattle her now. Whatever happened to her, she had to make sure he got home again. From what Alex had said before he started clamming up around her, he’d spent more of his time in the lab than on the shooting range. She said, “Being smart enough to set up an ambush isn’t the same as being able to hold your own in a firefight. Stay down and stay behind me if things get hot.”

Surprise flickered across his face. “What, feeling protective? I didn’t know you cared.”

Anger seethed through her. Val bit down on it, hard. She needed to look like she was in control and in command here. “Of course I care,” she snapped. “If you’d talk to me, you’d know that. You don’t want to think of me as your sister, that’s fine. But you’re the only brother I’ve got.” She took a breath, pushing away her frustration and hurt feelings. _Professional_ , she reminded herself.

Alex’s jaw had dropped, his eyes widening and his whole face softening. He didn’t say anything, though, looking almost too stunned to talk.

 _Professional_ , Val thought again, and exhaled her anger through a tight smile. “Be suited up and ready to go in two hours,” she told him, and walked away.  


	18. Chapter 17

As they cruised over the lunar surface, pock-marked and strewn with random sizes of rocks, Val had trouble even spotting any signs of human habitation. She leaned over the back of the pilot’s chair, frowning through the viewscreen. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“These are the coordinates I was given,” Alex said from behind her. Somewhat to Val’s surprise, there was no defensive edge to his voice. If anything, he seemed subdued, hunched into lightweight armor that didn’t quite fit.

“A little room, please?” Garrus asked.

With a guilty start, Val took half a step back from his seat. There wasn’t room for much more in the tight quarters of their ship’s small cockpit. She rolled her shoulders, getting used to the fit of this hard suit, and crossed her arms. She took even breaths, in and out. _Focus_ , she told herself; this wasn’t the time to get distracted by Alex’s attitude or Garrus’s presence. She had to treat it like any other mission. As she squared her shoulders, concentrating on the smooth flow of air in and out of her lungs, the churning frustration of the last few days settled into a more familiar resolve. This should be a simple, routine reconnaissance mission, but with Cerberus, nothing was very simple. She knew herself, though, and she knew Garrus well enough; whatever came up, they’d handle it.

“There it is,” Garrus said, as the ship slowly circled around. Peering into the distance, Val could see it: a small dome with an entrance, dark and straight-edged against the moonscape below.

“Don’t suppose you have any idea what’s in there?” Garrus said, glancing over his shoulder.

Val glanced back herself to see Alex shrug. “Sorry. Coordinates are all I’ve got.”

There was no guarantee it was even the right facility, she reminded herself. Or that whatever device they found would work. It should have filled her with uncertainty, but the prospect of taking action, of having a clear purpose, buoyed her up instead. They had a clear mission: get in, investigate, get out. After that, they could deal with whatever they’d found. “All right,” she said aloud, conscious of the two men looking to her. “Could you set her down by the airlock, Garrus?”

Without comment, Garrus guided the ship down to the lunar surface. Part of Val wished for Steve Cortez’s steady hands, though this was an easy flight, with no visible danger, and Garrus was more than capable of handling a routine VI-assisted landing. Vega, now, she was never letting Vega fly anything anywhere ever again. They’d have to leave the ship unoccupied, though. In the back of her brain, she worried that the vessel would be visible from above, that it might attract unwanted attention, or tampering.

Regardless, that was a risk they’d have to take. She could postpone worrying about that until they emerged from whatever they found in the facility.

Given that a small dome was the only thing on the surface, Shepard was willing to bet the facility was mostly underground. With any luck, the life support systems would still be functional, and they wouldn’t have to rely on their suits’ oxygen. She finished suiting up without any chatter, pushing down the brief surge of tension she felt every time she locked her helmet into place. She’d never quite been able to shed the bone-deep dread that came from knowing that helmet, hardsuit, and oxygen hadn’t saved her before.

She’d checked her O2 lines obsessively ever since. Never mind that the ship wasn’t likely to blow up around her more than once. She didn’t want to push her luck.

Alex and Garrus had suited up as well, turning faceless and alien in their helmets. Together they waited for the airlock to cycle. When the lock turned green, Val reached for the controls. “I’ll take point,” she told the others. “Garrus, take the rear.”

Alex didn’t object or grumble, but simply nodded.

They were only a few paces from the entrance, especially with the long, bouncing strides that came with the low-G environment. Val stepped back and let Alex work on the lock, scanning around them at the sharp black-and-white line of the horizon. Nothing moved; there were no other signs of human habitation in view.

“They’ve got crappy security,” Alex reported. “I’m not even going to have to get fancy over here. I’ll be through this in thirty seconds.”

Garrus fired up his omni-tool as well, the screen casting a lurid orange glow across the dark faceplate of his helmet. “Accessing their systems... looks like life support shut down months ago. No one’s home now.”

Val sighed inside the privacy of her helmet before a thought occurred to her. “Did they shut it off themselves, or did it automatically shut down?”

“Automatic shut-down, looks like. Which doesn’t tell us much. I can start it up again.” Garrus’s fingers moved across the omni-tool’s interface. “Yeah, the system’s still functional. It’ll take a few minutes to get heat and breathable air again. The facility’s VI is operational, but it’s pretty limited. It’s here to run life support and monitor exterior hazards, not much more.”

Val nodded. “Can we access their data storage from here?”

After a moment, Garrus and Alex both shook their heads. Alex said, “Central data storage is disconnected from facility systems. There has to be another system inside.”

“On the plus side, I found a building schematic,” Garrus said. “Pushing it to your ‘tools now.”

Val opened the schematic on her helmet’s internal display and gave it a quick once-over. “Not long on labeling rooms, are they?” she commented, observing the number of undifferentiated rooms and corridors.

“Like Cerberus would be helpful that way,” Alex said, and Garrus chuckled.

Val smiled thinly, trying to remember the last time she’d heard Alex make a joke. Was he more relaxed, or whistling in the dark? Either way, she found it obscurely heartening.

She reached out and slapped the entrance’s controls.

An eternity seemed to pass while the airlock cycled; no one spoke, but Alex and Garrus fidgeted slightly to either side of her, fueling her own rising anticipation. When the lock finished its cycle with a dull chiming noise, the door whirred open, and Val stepped forward into a bland corridor, almost eerily featureless except for the plain doors on either side.

“Anything interesting has to be further in,” Garrus said. “No one stows their valuable prototypes near the door.”

“True,” Val said. “But let’s check just to be thorough.” She pushed on the first door, which opened easily. Cerberus’s symbol stared back at her from the wall inside, oblong, black and ominous. Val sneered back at it. “It’s a Cerberus facility, all right,” she commented.

The first few rooms held nothing of particular interest: suits for surface exploration, tools, safety equipment, storage crates. A couple of personal lockers, emptied, one of them half-open; a couple more lockers still containing spare clothing. Everything was dully impersonal: no personal pics, IDs, or anything else distinctive. Alex did a quick search of a couple of the crates, but found them mostly full of stored rations, spare O2 cylinders, and raw materials for a fabricator.

They continued, onward and downward. The corridor descended a dozen steps, narrow enough that Val could easily touch the walls on either side. The whiteness and stillness of the place set the hairs at the back of her neck prickling. More Cerberus symbols loomed over them as they descended.

“Love the decor,” Garrus commented.

“Cerberus does have a style,” Val replied. The sound of their voices rang hollow inside her helmet, doing nothing to settle her nerves. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor. She wondered how far down this place went.

The stairs ended at a single door; beyond, the overhead lights flickered wanly before coming to life, glaringly bright in a square, white room. Tweedy beige chairs and couches and datapads scattered across low tables suggested that it had once served as a lounge space.  One artificial plant sat in a black pot, plastic flowers incongruously bright in the otherwise colorless room.

“Looks like we’ve found the living quarters,” Garrus said.

“I guess Cerberus blew its budget on the _Normandy_ ,” Shepard said, glancing around. The furniture looked cheap and blandly functional, nothing like what she’d seen on the _Normandy_ SR-2.

“Blew its budget on Shepard, more like,” Alex muttered.

Val grimaced, thinking uneasily of Lazarus Station. The same spare, impersonal, functional construction as this place. Less death and destruction, at least. Lazarus had had a lot more money spent on lab space, probably; only the best for Commander Shepard.

To chase away the nagging memories, she picked up one of the datapads and thumbed it on. The title _Journal of Theoretical Physics_ flashed across the screen. Flicking it off again, she said, “All right. Let’s fan out and search the place.”

This level had clearly been the living quarters; besides the lounge, there were lavatories and a sparse kitchenette. A jumble of dirty dishes sat in the sink, and there was an inch of cold black sludge at the bottom of the coffee pot. Of the five bedrooms, three had been emptied, evidently in a hurry; a few forgotten articles of clothing lay limp at the bottom of one closet, and the bed in the other was rumpled. The remaining two looked untouched, the closets and drawers stocked with clothing, a few datapads and other personal items left on the nightstand. Val walked into one room and found a Blasto nightlight glowing luridly pink; she nearly shot it before she realized what it was. In the other room, a photo frame sat by the lamp. Val picked it up and scrolled through the images: a smiling, dark-eyed young woman, an older man and woman with their arms around each other, a few landscape shots, the older couple again, this time flanking a beaming young man in academic robes.

Garrus called out, “Looks like part of the team left in a hurry.”

“Then where’s the rest of them?” Val wondered. She glanced at Alex. “You get anything from their notes?”

He shook his head. “They have a bunch of scientific journals lying around, and some more crackpot stuff, but nothing too exciting. Anything about their project must be in the labs, wherever those are.” He glanced toward the stairs that led down out of the lounge area.

Val checked the readouts on her suit. The atmosphere had stabilized to a livable temperature and oxygen concentration, so she unsealed her helmet and took it off, taking in a long breath. 

The air smelled stale and dry, but the simple act of breathing unfiltered air eased something in Val’s chest and made her shoulders unknot a little. Walking toward the stairs, she inhaled deeply, and a whiff of something sickly-sweet hit the back of her sinuses. She frowned. That smell, and the research team unaccounted for...

Unlike Lazarus station, there might not be murderous bots here, but something had gone wrong, all the same. Five bedrooms, and only three had departed.

She took another breath, feeling the weight of the others’ attention on her. The faint smell of decay had fled, leaving her to wonder whether her imagination had conjured it. Only flat, recirculated air now. Val mustered her resolve. “Let’s go.”

These stairs spiraled down to the next level. The lights, motion-activated, lit as they descended, casting a sharp white glow in the room around them: an open office space, dotted with cluttered desks and inactive vidscreens. A heap of datapads had fallen from one desk to the floor, a rolling chair had been knocked over, and another chair had rolled into the corner, away from all the desks. As Val looked around, unease tightened the muscles of her back. A couple of the desks weren’t squared up to the others: coincidence? Or had something gotten pushed out of place? “All right,” she said, and heard the tinge of worry in her voice. She tried to sound more commander-like. “Fan out, and see if you can find anything.” She moved toward the pile of fallen datapads.

“Because going through someone else’s research notes is fun,” Alex muttered, heading toward another desk.

“Delightful,” Garrus agreed, taking a third. “Did I ever tell you about the time I had to go through a volus scientist’s financial records?”

Alex snorted. “No, I think you skipped that one.”

“It took me fifty days just to discover there was nothing to discover. The volus had been messing with his own accounting just for the fun of it.”

Alex laughed, the sound echoing around the room. Val bent to scoop up the datapads. As she straightened, she noticed a dark brown smear across the edge of the desk. Stiffening, Val glanced around quickly and then scraped at it with a gloved finger. Reddish-brown flakes fluttered to the floor. Dried blood. Disturbed, Val looked around again. In her imagination, the fallen chair and datapads now assembled themselves into signs of a struggle, though she didn’t see any more blood. She let out a breath and set to work, quickly scanning through the datapads and setting aside the ones that only contained more scientific journals. She got lucky on the sixth one down, which contained someone’s personal log.

_2186 June 13_

_More mice lost. I keep telling Fletcher and Mazzota that we_ _’re not ready for testing on live animals yet. I know I’m new to the project, but I’m not convinced by Mazzota’s results. We need to back up and recheck our data instead of just throwing more mice into this thing. I know they’re just lab animals, but still. I think Sinha agrees with me, but he’s afraid to say so. I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into here._

_2186 June 21_

_I_ _’ve tried to talk to Mazzota, but she won’t listen to me. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t even have the comm codes to contact our bosses. I tried to talk to Whitman, too, but they just want to tinker with the machinery. They’re sure we’ll get it right next time. I hope they’re right._

_2186 June 23_

_Fletcher took me aside to_ _“explain the realities of our situation,” he said. I’ll say this much, it was informative. I don’t really understand the urgency to deliver results. Obviously this would be a huge breakthrough if we can pull it off, but doesn’t that mean we should take our time to get it right? It’s not like the world is about to end. Having this much pressure is kind of freaking me out._

Val winced. These entries were only written a year ago, but they might as well have been written in another world. She glanced around the room. Garrus had his omni-tool up, datapads sorted into neat stacks in front of him. Alex had planted himself at one of the desks and was reading, brow furrowed.

_2186 July 2_

_Back to inorganic object tests. The object disappears when the device activates and reappears when the device deactivates. I can understand why Mazzota_ _’s so irritated about our failures with live subjects, but I think she’s overly fixated on that issue. I’ve tried to point out to everyone that we don’t actually know what’s happening when the object disappears. We don’t have proof it’s going to another dimension. The portal does something, all right, but we don’t know what._

_I wouldn_ _’t even mind so much if the mice were only dying, but it’s as if they’re getting turned inside out. Why continue this when we haven’t figured out what’s going wrong?_

A picture followed, of a small scrap of bloody flesh that Val wouldn’t even have recognized as a mouse without being told what it was. Frowning, she scrolled on quickly.

“Anyone got anything?” Garrus called out.

“This one has a billion schematics for something they thought was a dimensional portal, at least,” Alex said. “They’re a little vague on what evidence made them think that.”

“Whoever wrote this log wasn’t so sure they had a portal,” Val said. “Evidently their live tests didn’t go well.”

Alex’s nose wrinkled. “Got it.”

Val returned to the log, skimming through the continued catalog of the scientist’s frustrations, trying to take note of the key points.

_2186 July 18_

_Finally convinced Mazzota and Fletcher to stop the live tests. For all I know they agreed because they didn_ _’t want to buy more lab mice.  Anyway, they agreed we should do more data analysis. Hopefully we can figure out what’s happening in there._

_2186 August 1_

_Sinha_ _’s the only one who seems wiling to admit that we might not have accomplished anything. Mazzota, Fletcher, and Whitman all insist that the theory is sound, so it must be right, but I just don’t know._

_2186 August 24_

_Fletcher spent an hour today locked in his private office and came out looking grim. He said we needed to step up the pace of testing. Testing what, though? There_ _’s a fundamental flaw in our theory or methods somehow, there has to be. I just don’t know what else we can do. I guess our sponsor is getting impatient, but I really think we need to close things down._

_2186 September 20_

_God. I know it_ _’s been too long since I kept a log, it’s just... there’s been too much going on._

_We_ _’ve lost communications. Regular communications, anyway. Except Fletcher says he has a QEC in his office. I don’t know why our project would rate a QEC, but I guess it doesn’t matter now._

_The galaxy_ _’s been invaded. It seems almost impossible to believe. We’ve been arguing about what to do. Mazzota, of all people, wants to leave, says she wants to find her family. We might be able to take the shuttle back to Earth, but I don’t know if we could find her family even then. Sinha just wants to get out. But get this, Fletcher wants to keep on with the project. He’s convinced that if we can get the portal working, we can use it to get away from these invaders altogether. Whitman seems willing to go along with it._

_I don_ _’t know what to do. We’re safe enough here, and we have enough supplies for a few months, at least. Maybe by then the war will be over?_

_2186 September 22_

_Mazzota says I need to make up my mind. Sinha says he_ _’s leaving no matter what the rest of us decide. Fletcher and Whitman say they’re working on something._

“Got anything?”

Val nearly jumped out of her seat as Alex leaned over her shoulder. She flinched and twisted around to glare up at him. Alex snickered and smirked at her, surprisingly playful. He hadn’t looked at her like that since he’d learned her secret.

“Not really,” she said, staring. “Sounds like their work wasn’t going well.”

“Huh.” He took the datapad when she offered it and scrolled through it, frowning.

“It just ends,” Val said.

“So did they all leave in a hurry, or did something else happen?” Alex glanced at the closed door on the far side of the room.

“What about you?” she asked. So far, reading these logs hadn’t done anything but set her more on edge.

Alex shook his head. “I need more than five minutes to get all the technical details, but honestly, I’m not sure they really understood what they were doing.”

“That’s what it looked like to me, too.” She blew out a breath. “Let’s see what else we’ve got here.” To find out what they needed to know, they’d have to look further. Val stood, her heart beating faster, and turned toward the door at the far end of the room. It loomed larger than it ought to, and the stale air seemed to press in around them. Her mouth dry, Val stalked across the room quietly, as if there might be something she could startle on the other side of the door. Her fingers curled around her sidearm, reassured by the cool hard weight of it. In her peripheral vision, she saw Garrus and Alex fall in behind her.

Val started to call Garrus up to hack the lock, but stopped when she saw that the lock wasn’t activated. Silently, not letting herself hesitate, she opened the door.

On the other side was a small observation chamber, the windows into the next room shuttered, and a man lying on the floor.

Val almost pulled her gun, but the man’s body was so clearly dead, sprawled at a stiff and unnatural angle, that her hand only tightened around the grip for a moment before relaxing. She winced at the sickly odor of decay, for once wishing that she’d left her helmet on. Even so, as she advanced cautiously toward the body, the smell wasn’t as bad as she might have thought; the flesh had sunken, drawn and desiccated in the dry air.

“Well,” Alex said after a moment. “Which one do you think? Fletcher, or Whitman?”

Val grimaced and shook her head. Garrus stepped up beside her, crouching for a closer look. “Gunshot wound. Probably self-inflicted.”

“Maybe the others had already left,” Alex said.

“Not a good way to go,” Val murmured, remembering the pics she’d seen in the bedrooms.

Garrus pulled a datapad from the pocket of the corpse’s jacket. “Any last words?” he inquired, pushing a button. A male voice, harsh and surprisingly loud, started speaking at once, startling Val into a flinch.

“Fuck, everything’s gone to hell. It should have worked, it should have... the theory was sound. Mazzota’s smart, even if she’s a coward,” said the voice, filled with bitterness. “It was supposed to get us out of here, but now everything’s fucked up. There’s no way out now. I’m not waiting for the Reapers.” The sound clicked off as abruptly as it had begun.

“Charming guy,” Garrus said, straightening.

Around them, the walls seemed to shudder softly, even the ground under Val’s boots vibrating.

“What was that?” Alex asked.

“I’m not sure,” Val said, tensing. It had felt like... she wasn’t sure what. She might have thought she’d imagined it, if Alex hadn’t said something. “Maybe something to do with the building’s systems?”

“Maybe,” Garrus said, scanning the room through his visor. “Maybe something from in there.”

They all looked at the door, in a stiff silence. Val waited, holding her breath, but she didn’t hear or feel anything else. She wet her lips. “Garrus. Could you get the door?”

“Sure, send the turian in first,” Garrus said, but he said it lightly, moving toward the door without hesitation. He bent to hack the lock. “Here we go.”

He worked for a few seconds, bent over the lock, the yellow-orange glow of his omni-tool sending odd shadows over his face. Alex glanced up toward the ceiling and then toward Val, before hunching his shoulders and staring at the door with a scowl, his foot tapping nervously. When the lock finally whirred and turned green, Garrus activated the door without waiting for an order. No point in drawing this out any longer, Val supposed. He stepped back as the door slid open, though, extending a hand to Val to indicate she should enter first. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, lifted her chin, and went in.

For a moment, her eyes refused to take the situation in, and she wasn’t sure just what she was looking at. Rock dominated the room, a rough face of gray lunar rock that jutted into the space at a sharp angle, severing the room into odd shapes and angles. It was so obtrusive and strange that Val’s first, bewildered thought was to wonder why the science team would have built the room that way.

Then the shattered machinery around the base of the stone came into focus: twisted metal, plastic, and glass shards so jumbled that she couldn’t guess what shape it had originally been. There was another body, too, surrounded by dried blood, a spar of metal jammed through its torso. The only intact object in the room, beside the rock itself, was a solitary workstation, which still blinked with a dim orange light.

“What the hell,” Val heard herself say.

Garrus made a clicking noise. “Hell of a way to go.”

Val surveyed the scattered, broken rubble, disquieted by the bizarre destruction. “I don’t think their device works any more.”

“You think?” Alex said, stepping up beside her. “Whatever they thought they were doing, they sure fucked it up.”

“Another Cerberus success,” Garrus said. Alex snorted in agreement.

“Did that come through the portal?” Val asked, staring at the rock. It spanned the gap from floor to ceiling, like a giant, jagged tooth. Had the science team somehow brought it through from somewhere else?

“Beats me. I’m not sure it even _is_ a portal.” Still frowning, Alex strode toward the console, activated it, and started rapidly scrolling through the interface. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said after a moment. “I’m going to download every bit of data from this thing, because that device is sure as hell not going back together, and then we’re going to get out of this place, because we’re not learning anything more from it.”

Besides that, it was creeping him out, Val thought, watching the stiff set of his shoulders and how he shifted his weight and tapped his fingers against the side of the workstation while he waited for the data to transfer. Seeing Alex rattled, a knot of cold dread seemed to form in her gut.

“Unless there’s anything else you’d like to do, Commander?” Garrus asked pointedly.

She’d just let Alex make a command decision, she realized. Maybe John Shepard would have objected to things like that. At the moment, Val couldn’t bring herself to care. She shook her head. “No, let’s get the data and get out,” she said.

A few seconds later, the room shook, rumbling softly under Val’s feet. “Alex, hurry it up,” she said, eyeing the ceiling.

“Data can’t actually be forced to transfer faster,” he said through his teeth, but his hands moved faster over the controls.

Val exchanged glances with Garrus and waited, increasingly antsy to move. Her legs prickled with tension. Her biotic amp felt warm, dark energy gathering almost within reach. Facing the door, Val kept her stance loose, at the ready in case anything happened. Garrus had drifted up to a position at her three, shifting his weight from foot to foot and stretching out his neck. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity before Alex said, “Got it,” and stepped away from the console.

“Great. Let’s go.” She moved forward like a spring had released, through the door and into the observation chamber beyond. She spared the body — Fletcher’s? — only a quick glance, and kept moving. Someone else could come back and deal with the dead later. Right now, she wanted to get out of here.

The door to the observation chamber slid open just as Val reached for the controls. She saw four dark shapes, and her pistol was in her hand before she’d consciously registered the movement.

The figure across from her, slim in black armor, drew almost as quickly. A split second later, Garrus said, “Wait a second, let’s all take it easy. Lawson?”

Val blinked, looking past the unfamiliar gold-trimmed black armor. Behind a yellow scanning visor was a sculpted, elegant face that she knew, an unexpected relief. The gun in her hand wavered for a moment. “Miranda?”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed, sliding right past Val toward Garrus. “Vakarian,” she said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Probably the same as you,” he said evenly. “A little salvage?”

Miranda seemed to consider, her mouth tightening slightly. “Fair enough,” she acknowledged, lowering her pistol. Her gaze slid back to Val. “And who might you be?”


	19. Chapter 18

Stupid. Val's relief at seeing Miranda — _not an enemy_ , her brain told her — melted away at Miranda's lack of recognition. Of course Miranda didn't know her. Miranda had no reason to know Val Shepard. Belatedly, Val lowered her weapon, drawing herself up and lifting her chin.

Alex spoke before Val could. "My sister." He took a step forward, positioning himself by Val's shoulder. "Staff Commander Val Shepard."

Miranda's eyebrows quirked as her eyes traveled from one to the other. "Alexander," she said, with a note of surprise in her voice. "Interesting company you're keeping, Vakarian."

"I don't mind it," Garrus said.

"I suppose that explains how you found this place," Miranda said, glancing again at Alex, who shrugged.

"Doesn't explain how _you_ found this place," Garrus said.

The corner of Miranda's mouth turned up. "It's not a matter of finding when you have the right contacts."

A fifth figure in black and white came up behind Miranda and her team, saying, "I haven't seen any signs of them, but—" The figure stopped in its tracks and made a strangled noise. "Oh God, Fletcher."

"Allow me to introduce Dr. Mazzota," Miranda said.

"Oh," Alex said. "So you're the alleged brains behind this mess."

Miranda's eyebrows twitched. Garrus coughed. " _Sasha_ ," Val hissed, appalled.

"The theory was sound," said Mazzota, pulling off her helmet to reveal a head of dark curly hair and shadowed eyes. "What the hell _happened_ after...excuse me." Elbowing her way past Miranda's guards, she headed for the doorway behind them. Val stepped aside to let her go.

"Your sensitivity astounds as always, Alexander," Miranda said, recovering herself.

"If she wasn't the problem, it was your boss, leaning on them for results like usual," Alex said hotly. "Like with Archer's project. And that thing on Pragia. And..."

"Yes, yes, you've made your point," Miranda said.

Val said, "The point is, you won't find much usable here." The equipment didn't look recoverable, from what she could see. The data... she wasn't sure what use Miranda might have for the data.

"I assume you won't mind if I verify that for myself." Miranda's gaze traveled among the three of them. Her eyes were cool, measuring, giving nothing away. Val found herself thrown right back to the earliest days of their acquaintance, when she and Miranda had spent all their time sizing each other up, circling each other like wary varren. Miranda's trust had been hard-won; so had Val's. Val hesitated, torn between her desire to get the hell away from this place and a wary curiosity about Miranda's motives.

"What exactly brought you here, Miranda?" Garrus asked, evidently sharing the curiosity.

"I might ask the same of you. This particular research isn't exactly your area. Any of you." Her gaze swept them again. "Unless the commander here is also a theoretical physicist."

"She's not. I like to branch out," Alex said.

"Do you, indeed?"

Alex shrugged. "I get around."

Garrus broke in as the two of them eyed each other. "Let's get to the point here: are you trying to take over Cerberus?"

Miranda smiled. "Cerberus is a discredited, disorganized, and ineffective organization, Vakarian. I can only assume both the Hierarchy and the Alliance are taking an interest in the research that went on here. Why shouldn't I?"

"What are you going to do with the research?" Val asked.

Miranda's eyes met hers. "I think that's enough conversation," she said evenly. "May I suggest you three be on your way?" She tipped her head, and the four men accompanying her straightened up, hands on their weapons. Val stiffened, her grip on her pistol tightening.

"Only four?" Garrus said. "Seriously?"

"You know what I can do," Miranda said.

Val and Garrus exchanged glances. They probably _could_ take Miranda's party out, but Val wasn't sure how much they'd gain by escalating the situation. "All right, we're going," she said.

"Lovely." Miranda stepped aside, gesturing to one of her men. "Roberts here will see you out."

Garrus's mandibles tightened. Val shrugged slightly when he glanced at her again. It was a little silly — either one of them could easily overpower one guard — but if they didn't want to pick a fight with Miranda, they'd have to go along with it.

So they went, calmly and deliberately, though Val's shoulder blades itched with the sense of Miranda's measuring gaze on her back.

With Roberts alongside them, the three of them couldn't carry on much of a conversation. When the reached the living quarters, Alex said, "So, Roberts. How long were you with Cerberus?"

"Just keep walking," Roberts replied.

Val shot Alex a look. He shrugged.

After that, they stayed quiet until they reached the airlock. Val fought down the brief visceral chill of claustrophobia as she sealed her helmet shut and stepped into the waved at them, incongruously, as the inner airlock cycled closed. "Does Miranda know something we don't?" Val asked.

"Could be," Garrus said. "Miranda likes having a, what do you call it. An ace in the hole."

"I didn't get a close look at the materials," Alex said. "It's mostly scrap, but some of the components might be useful to her."

"Useful for what, though?" Val asked. "Do you think she wants to continue the research?"

Alex shrugged. "Maybe, but considering I scrambled it when I left, she's going to have a fun time putting it back together."

There was a short silence before Val choked back a laugh, and Garrus chuckled outright. "Nice."

"You might have said you were doing that earlier," Val pointed out, nudging Alex with her shoulder.

He flinched away. "Sorry. Mostly I wanted to get out of there."

"I do wonder just how many old Cerberus cells she's cleaning up," Garrus murmured. "Something to keep an eye on."

"Do you trust her?" Val asked. She remembered Miranda as a friend, someone who had turned away from Cerberus to find herself a spare independence. But she couldn't afford to assume that Miranda was the same here, not when Liara was so different.

Neither Garrus nor Alex answered right away. Val wished they weren't proceeding in a line, so she could see their faces. She couldn't tell anything from the back of Garrus's armor.

"She helped us during the war," Garrus said finally. "And she left Cerberus, I know that much."

"Leaving Cerberus is simple common sense," Alex muttered from behind Val. "She might have wanted out, that doesn't mean she disagrees with their goals."

"That's what has me worried," Garrus said. "There's going to be a lot of scheming and maneuvering in the new galactic order. If Miranda's collecting up Cerberus's spare parts, she might be trying to make sure humanity ends up on top of the heap."

That notion sounded plausible enough to leave a cold knit of tension in Val's muscles. Miranda was formidable: intelligent, organized, and ruthless. "Not sure I want Miranda as an enemy."

Garrus chuckled. "Me neither. But leaving this way, we should still have the door open to talk to her."

"Especially if she wants the data I pulled from there," Alex added. "I thought you wanted to go back to wherever you came from, though. It's not really your problem."

Val shot him a quick look, but it was hard to read his expression through his helmet. He was right; if she didn't really belong here, Miranda and whatever she was doing with old Cerberus assets wasn't really Val's problem, any more than the continued existence of the Reapers was. Maybe she didn't have any business interfering.

Still... "You said it was going to take a while to figure out this technology," she said. "I have to do something with my time until then."

Garrus laughed again, a soft, low noise. "Huh," Alex said.

Val thought he sounded surprised. When she stole another look at him, he'd moved away from her and was looking fixedly at the door ahead.

She sighed to herself as the airlock finished its cycle, and stepped out onto the lunar landscape first, impatient to get back to the ship. The sooner they could move on, the better. Nothing had come after the ship, fortunately. She could see it clearly sitting, angular and lonely, against the rocky ground, the view ahead sharply divided between gray lunar rock and black sky.

Starless sky. Too black.

Shepard's mind registered the black void even as the darkness moved, too vast for the eye to register, its bulk seemingly too heavy for the lunar rock.

 _Reaper_.

Every muscle in her body tensed, her nerves screaming for action. Her biotic corona flared around her, uselessly. She had a gun in her hand, and had braced herself in a defensive position. Equally useless, all of it; the thing in front of her could obliterate her without effort, if it wanted. It wasn't one of the _small_ ones, like on Rannoch, oh no; it loomed, rising up and up into the blackness of the sky.

"What is that doing here?" Garrus said over the comm, sounding as shaken as she'd ever heard him.

"Maybe it wants some salvage, too," Val said.

"Head for the ship," Garrus suggested.

"No, wait..." Val's fear, still tingling through every nerve, began to morph into a wild, fey impulse. She'd talked to Reapers before, hadn't she? Sovereign had talked to her. Harbinger. The one on Rannoch. If she could get this one's attention, maybe she'd finally get some useful answers. After all, the Reapers were supposed to hate the Leviathan, and the Leviathan were behind whatever had happened to her. Probably.

It was worth a shot.

She bounced forward a couple of paces.

"Hey," she called out, projecting her voice from her helmet's external speakers. "Hey, you, Reaper. Whatever you call yourself."

"What the fuck are you doing," Alex gasped, behind her.

Val ignored him. "Hey," she called out again, craning her neck back, trying to make out the pointed top of the Reaper's metallic, squid-like form.

It had no eyes, nor a face; she could not tell whether it turned to regard her. But it stopped moving, vast legs balanced spider-like against the ash-gray lunar rock. For a long moment Val held her breath, fists clenched.

Then she heard the Reaper's voice, reverberant and insistent, just as Sovereign's had been. It rattled in the bones of her ears and in the rocks under her feet, vibrated its way up her bones, and set her heart trembling in her chest.

"You," it said. "You don't seem like much, do you? To cause so much trouble."

Elation boiled up in Val's heart, only to be doused with a fast, cold shock. Her mouth went dry. "You know who I am?"

The ground shook. Was the Reaper _laughing_? "Of course. How not? So much effort they spent on you, and still they failed."

"Failed," she repeated numbly. Her skin tingled; she was dimly aware of dark energy crackling around her hands, unwilled. But she felt cold in her chest, cold spreading to her gut. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. "Who failed? The Leviathan? Failed at what?"

"The great Commander Shepard," it said, as if it hadn't heard her questions. "Somehow they thought if they unmade you, they might yet prevail. They were fools."

Cold crept into her limbs. Shepard clenched her fists against the chill, trying to hold onto each word, sear it into her memory so that she could remember it and _understand_. "What do you mean, unmake me?"

Silence. One of the Reaper's great legs lifted, as if preparing to move.

" _Wait_ ," she shouted. Dark energy rippled around her, forming into a shuddering corona. She strained to hold it with every bit of will she had. "What do you _mean_? Why did the Leviathan bring me here? How do I get back?"

The tip of the Reaper's leg dropped. The ground shook as it landed, dust rising around it, tremors beating against the soles of Val's boots. "Bring you here? You have been here all along, every moment of your insignificant life."

She clenched her fists harder. She felt taut with energy, an elastic band about to snap. The Reaper's words made no sense. "No. No, that's not... I switched here somehow, with some other Shepard. From another dimension, or..." It had seemed like the only explanation, but now it seemed ridiculous, impossible.

"There is no other." The Reaper's voice reverberated around her, sonorous, insidious. "No other universe your meager powers can access. The fools in the facility below us tried, and failed. You have always been here. There is nowhere to go back to." It chuckled, the tremors of its laughter rolling into the bones of her feet.

" _How_? Everything's _wrong_." Val's corona flared. Dark energy burst out around her. A rock, carried by the energy wave, flew across the surface and struck the Reaper harmlessly on one leg. With the energy discharged, Val stood trembling, the cold seeping into her arms and legs, though her eyes and throat felt hot with unshed tears. "No one knows me, the Leviathan are everywhere, some other Shepard did all my missions and didn't... he didn't even destroy you. _Why are you still here?_ Why is everything _like_ this? How...?" She swallowed down the start of a sob, damned if she was going to cry while talking to a fucking _Reaper_.

"Do you think you chose better?" the Reaper asked. "Let us see."

Before she could say a word, her body seized, her limbs stiffening as her feet left the ground. Her teeth clenched against the intolerable pressure, her lips spreading out into a grimace. Dimly she could hear shouting — Garrus and Alex — and she hoped the Reaper wasn't hurting them somehow.

She knew this invisible grip, though, impossible to resist, just like the Prothean beacon, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It made her helpless, forcing her to ride out whatever vision the beacon — or the Reaper — might show her as it washed through her mind, blotting out her surroundings.

Shepard stands on the Citadel — staggers, really — though the pain is remote, more a memory of pain than the thing itself. She has a gun in her hand. But it isn't her gun, was it? Without her willing it, her hand raises the weapon, pulls the trigger.

Fire explodes as her target shatters, fire consuming, roaring. She raises an arm to shield her face, but the whole Citadel shakes with it. The structures around her ignite, light pulsing through the vast form of the Crucible, too bright to look at it. Shepard might be falling, her battered body abandoned, as the vision pulls her up and out and she sees it: tides of unearthly red energy that wash over the gathered Alliance fleets and Reapers alike. The Reapers die, she sees that plainly: their tentacle-like limbs spasming, contracting, the baleful eyes that power them going dark.

For a moment, Shepard exults, but the enormous hulks drift, now victims of inertia, some of them crashing into allied ships not nimble enough to avoid them. The geth ships, too, go dark, their inert insectile shapes colliding with nearby quarian and human ships, causing chaos. She sees a quarian liveship sheared in two, sees a turian cruiser annihilated, watches the fleets frantically maneuver away as the dead Reapers spun their way through space, some of them falling into Earth's gravity well. Her exultation fades into horror.

On Earth now, she sees waves of red energy roll across the surface, leaving collapsed Reaper ground units in their wake: husks and brutes and ravagers alike lying as limp, empty shells, more pathetic than terrifying now. Exhausted defending troops approach cautiously, prodding them for any signs of life. Other defenders raise their guns in a ragged cheer, embracing their comrades, and her heart lifts.

But only briefly, as the vision relentlessly shows her Reapers crashing to the surface, raising tsunami or clouds of dust, obliterating fields and towns where their burning corpses strike.

She sees red pulsing through the mass relays, too, rocketing from one to the next, leaving burnt-out relays behind them. In every system, Reapers die; but in every system, the Reapers' gargantuan metal carcasses cause fresh destruction, crashing into stations, ships, planets.

She sees the geth dead and drifting, quarians trying in vain to revive them and restore the geth units in their own suits.

Shepard might be screaming, the sound drowned beneath the din filling her ears. Throat raw and eyes streaming, she sees the _Normandy_ flee the scarlet energy wave, battered, veering this way and that. Its mass effect drive activates in a burst of blue, the ship bucking and vanishing as it passes through space, and she watches it crash, smoke trailing from the thrusters as the ship spirals down into the cloudy atmosphere of some green world she doesn't recognize.

"Do you see?" came the Reaper's voice. "Is this better?"

She blinked. The vision had dissipated. She hung suspended in darkness, red lights twinkling dimly around her. "That didn't happen," she said, her voice coming out thin and hoarse. "You're lying."

"It would have happened, if those who seek to subjugate..." The Reaper sneered. "... had not altered things. Perhaps you should be grateful to them."

In spite of everything she had seen, Val clung to the fragile notion of violence. Her lip curled. "Never," she said venomously.

"No?" The Reaper's dark voice sounded curious. "You organics make such promises."

She would have shaken her head if she could move, to shake off the confusion and erase the Reaper's vision from her mind. No matter what it showed her, it had said things she needed to pay attention to, if she wanted to learn anything. It had said... "What do you mean, altered?"

"You _are_ stubborn," it said. "You seek after matters you cannot possibly understand."

"Save it," she said with loathing. She was so very tired of having Reapers condescend to her. "Just answer my questions already."

The Reaper chuckled. Its laughter seemed to shudder all around her. "You were not meant to be here," it said. "You were meant to be gone, rewritten, unmade. They sought to make a new and better version of you."

Blood rushed in Val's ears, matching the anger pulsing in her chest. "Better?" she gritted out.

"Better for their purposes." The Reaper's voice drifted out of the dark, as if it were behind her.

"What purposes?"

"They remade the world accordingly," the Reaper said, as if it hadn't heard her.

Remade the _world?_ Val's heart beat faster as she tried to take in the immensity of it. "They made things this way? So they could win?" Her throat clenched in horror. "How? How did they do that? How can I _stop_ it?" There had to be some way to make things right.

"So many pointless questions," the Reaper mused. "Their purposes are beyond—"

"Beyond my pathetic mortal understanding, I _get_ it," Val spat out. "We understand a lot more than you think we do. Cycle of destruction, harvest, whatever, you're just destroying us before get powerful enough to come find you! You and the Leviathan both, you just want us ignorant and subordinate to you!"

"No," the Reaper snarled. "We are not as they. They want you to scuttle and crawl and worship them. We—"

"You want to destroy us. Yeah. I know." Val tried to settle her breathing. Anger still throbbed in her chest, the only thing that seemed real in this void the Reaper had taken her to. "Well, you know what? I did everything I could to stop you. And if the Leviathan _remade_ the world to undo all of that, I guess I'll just have to do it all over again. But I'll do it, and I won't quit until I've stopped them too, no matter what they've done to my friends."

Her defiance felt thin as a paper mask. Doing it all again — persuading and arguing and battling her way through mountains of indifference, without her name or reputation to give her an edge, in a galaxy worn out by war? Even the thought of it exhausted her. But she couldn't sit by and do nothing. Not with the Reapers roaming the galaxy — who knew how long they'd stay "friendly"? Not with the Leviathan plotting away in the shadows, and Liara under their control. Not with her friends scattered and lost. Not with her family at stake. If she couldn't get the world she knew back, at least she had her mother and her brothers, and she wouldn't lose them again if she could help it.

"Perhaps they were not entirely fools, after all."

The Reaper's voice reverberated in the darkness, echoing into silence. Val listened hard as she hung, timeless, the blood rushing in her ears; certain, deep down, that she was awaiting the Reaper's decision.

"They sought to remove you from the universe," it said, at length. She wasn't sure how much time had passed.

"Unmake me," she whispered, remembering what the Reaper had said earlier.

"They put another in your place, one they believed they could control. Yet they failed to remove you entirely, for here you are."

"Here I am." Val lifted her chin, wary. "What are you going to do with me?"

"You are a disruption in the heart of the world they shaped," it said. "You wish to fight?" The void around her began to spark back to life, shapes and colors swirling at the corners of her eyes. Glimpses of familiar weapons and armor, ships, even fragments of the Prothean vision. "Then fight."

The space around her began to shake. Or maybe she was shaking, rocked with every beat of her heart, while broken pieces of a hundred battlefields formed and vanished around her. "Wait," she said, desperately.

"Let us see whether you can undo what they have done."

She fell. Crashing out of the vision, out of the void where the Reaper chose to talk to her, she dropped onto her hands and knees on the rubble-strewn lunar surface and bounced. Rocks tumbled past her, away from the Reaper. Her muscles screamed from the strain of being locked in position. Ignoring the ache, Val scrambled up awkwardly, trying to regain her footing. Looking up, she saw the Reaper already moving away, each step of its vast legs carrying it further into the dark sky. "What do I need to do?" she shouted.

It did not answer.

" _Wait_ ," she shouted, but it only continued moving away. "Why are you doing this?" she called out, in a last-ditch effort.

She didn't truly expect an answer, but the Reaper paused, one leg elevated, and its voice rumbled through the stone again.

"They seek to control _us_. But they do not see all. Perhaps you will disrupt their plans and not ours. We shall find out."

The leg came down, resuming its path, leaving Val gasping and staring after it. The contrast of black sky and gray lunar rock around her now seemed too sharp, a little unreal, like bad vid graphics. Val shook herself, trying to regain her bearings, and remembered her companions with a shock. Val turned to look for them, floundering a little in the low lunar gravity.

Alex and Garrus had both fallen to the ground. Alex had pushed himself up to a sitting position, but Garrus was still on hands and knees, head down. A surge of guilt and alarm propelled her forward two bouncing strides. "Alex? Garrus? Are you all right?"

#

You probably don't remember particular days from your childhood all that well. Occasional days stand out, maybe — Christmas, your birthday, the day you got your first kitten — but for the most part, one day blends into another, full of lessons, play time, dinners, parental hugs or scolding.

So Alex Shepard doesn't particularly remember the day he would have died. More than one day started with Val banging her way out of the house after arguing with Mama, after all. There's nothing unusual about him walking his little brothers to school, nothing out of the ordinary about him fidgeting his way through a boring morning social studies class, wishing for the accelerated physical science class he has coming up in the afternoon. It could have been any day.

But as Alex tumbles to the surface of the moon, bowled over by — _something_ — a shock wave, he frantically tells himself, that must emanate from the Reaper — certain memories intrude into his mind.

A morning interrupted by a distant boom, and the sound of alarms. Sitting upright as the teachers check their omni-tools. Marching through the hallways in orderly lines, shooed along by the teachers, wondering what's going on as they descend into the basement of the school. The building rocking under impact, and kids starting to run, glimpsing strange armored bodies through the doors and windows.

Screaming, eventually, and fire, and explosions.

Numbed with shock, Alex struggles to sit up, one hand to his head.

#

Garrus remembers.

He remembers John Shepard, a lean, rangy human with an angular face — handsome, according to some. How could he not remember Shepard? He remembers everything he and Shepard went through together. Reporters ask him about Shepard sometimes. For some reason, they think Garrus is more approachable. Sometimes Garrus confines himself to a terse "no comment," but sometimes, if he's in the mood, he tries to find the words to say something about Shepard, give them a good sound bite. It's difficult to find the right words. How does he say that Shepard is a hard man, that Garrus doesn't agree with him or his methods all the time, but that Garrus would still follow him to the ends of the galaxy? He and Shepard, they've been through hell together, and they understand each other. How does Garrus explain Shepard in a way that makes sense to civilians? How can he say that Shepard is the kind of asshole who tells people to toughen up and get themselves together, and that he's Garrus's best friend, at the same time?

Best friend aside from Tali, anyway, and Garrus doesn't have Tali any more. He remembers that day, too, Tikkun's light casting sharp, purple-edged shadows across the surface of Rannoch, Tali's voice rising as she begged Shepard to stop the attack, to save her people. How she'd broken for that cliff too fast for anyone to stop her, slight, sleek, legs whirling in that odd-looking quarian gate, too quick and then gone.

But Garrus also remembers Tali laughing, tilting her tinted faceplate into the light as she stretched out her arms, proclaiming _all this will be mine, Garrus, you'll see_ ; he remembers her confidence settling around her like a mantle as she gave her fleet orders, and they obeyed. He remembers settling down in the lounge with her as she giggled over a bottle of brandy, and him chastising her for daring to filter a good Cipritine brandy like that. He remembers her at his side as they pushed their way through the wreckage of the Earth city called London, shoulder to shoulder (well, shoulder to elbow, she's always been shorter than him) as they followed after Shepard's blond hair and glittering biotic wake, just like always.

For a moment, the memory sears itself across his vision: the weight of his armor on his shoulders, the methodical repetition of firing, Tali at his side, Shepard ahead of them in that crimson armor.

Then it fades, replaced with another: the same weight, the same heft of the rifle in his hands, but now it's John Shepard at his shoulder with his own rifle, lean in black, while Vega clears a path in front of them, all bulk and momentum.

Garrus remembers John Shepard.

But he remembers _her_ , too. How she's always moving, full of restless energy, where John has a sniper's stillness. Garrus remembers the brightness of her hair, tied up in its eternal knot, and he remembers taking her hair down and running his hands through the long, silky fall of it. He remembers that old, vanished scar across her face, and the glee with which she wielded a shotgun built for a krogan. He remembers the exact shade of her eyes in the light that day on the Presidium, because he swore he'd etch that color into his memory, just in case. He remembers her smile that day, and he remembers her face later, coming undone in his hands, and the softness of her skin against his.

He staggers under the weight of it, two lives that shift back in forth like a mirror in the sun; it's that, as much as the shock wave, that drops him to the ground, on hands and knees in the powdery surface, while he tries to take it all in.

When Garrus lifts his head, she's there, in armor that doesn't look right, in a helmet he knows she hates, but it's her all right, staring down at him, eyes wide behind her face plate, looking utterly stricken.

Something in him leaps at the sight of her, which doesn't seem right; hasn't she been there all the time? Or was she... He shakes his head in confusion, and his mouth is so dry that it takes him a moment to find his voice.

"Shepard?"


	20. Chapter 19

"Shepard?"

Garrus's voice sounded odd, a little shaky, but Val couldn't see his expression behind his helmet's dark-tinted faceplate.

"Yeah," she said. Anyone would be shaken by a close encounter with a Reaper. She had no idea what had happened to the two men while she was locked in the Reaper's vision. "You okay, Garrus?"

"Fine," he said with a shake of his head. "I think." With exaggerated care, he started climbing to his feet.

Val turned her attention to her brother. "Alex?"

"I died," he said. Flat, almost matter-of-fact.

"What?" That didn't make sense. Val reached toward him and hesitated, wishing for the feed that EDI used to send to her hardsuit's HUD showing her her teammates' vital signs.

"Not now," he said, voice rising slightly. "Then. When the slavers came. There were explosions and then... nothing."

Val stared at him in horror, unsure what to say. The enormity of what he'd said felt like a weight, sinking onto her. She looked back over her shoulder, but the Reaper had almost vanished into the blackness of the sky, rising relentlessly away.

"Shepard," Garrus repeated, now on his feet. "Are _you_ all right?"

His head tilted slightly, a familiar gesture. Automatically, Val said, "Yeah. I'm..." She felt chilled, actually, and a little sick to her stomach. Her head had been cracked open, flooded with new information, and reassembled, and her skull still ached as she tried to grasp the ramifications of what she'd been told. When she blinked, she saw Reapers flooded with red, slowly crashing into allied ships. With a shake of her head, she shoved the vision away. "Fine," she said. "I'm fine."

Garrus let out a short laugh. "Whatever you say. Are you —" He stopped abruptly, his head tilting down.

"Am I what?"

He stayed still for a second before straightening. "Nothing. I just thought you — it seemed like I hadn't seen you in too long. But you've been right here the whole time."

Val bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the Reaper's words. "I guess I have been."

He glanced around, scanning the horizon around them. "Maybe we should get out of here and figure out what the hell just happened."

"Yes." Her head throbbed. For a moment she considered the facility they'd just left, but she still wasn't sure what had happened to Alex, and she didn't want to figure it out with Miranda's people around. She wanted a private space, somewhere safe. "Let's get back to the ship."

This time, Alex took her offered arm, and between her and Garrus, they maneuvered him to his feet. The three of them entered the ship's airlock in silence, waiting for the decontamination cycle to finish and the inner airlock hatch to open. When it was done, Alex tore off his helmet faster than Val did. "What did that thing do?" he spat, wild-eyed, his hair matted with sweat.

"What did you see?" Val asked anxiously. He looked shocky, breathing hard. She was breathing hard herself, her head swimming with confusion. At least Garrus, unlatching his helmet more slowly, looked okay.

"I didn't _see_ , I _remembered_. Even though that never happened." Alex raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "But I remembered being in school, and the alarms going off, and then..." He inhaled and then shut his mouth firmly.

Val's stomach tightened into a knot. "They told me the school was destroyed," she said slowly.

"That never happened," Alex repeated, his voice growing frantic. "How can I remember that?"

"The Reaper must have done something," she said, a seed of anger sprouting in her heart. Messing with her was one thing, but the Reaper had no business screwing around with her brother's head.

"Whatever it did, I'm a little confused myself," Garrus said. "What are we doing here, Shepard? What happened to you?"

There was something grating in his subharmonics, a note that made Val turn and look at him head-on. Garrus's mandibles flexed, and he met her gaze with what she read as a glint of sharp concern. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

"What do you mean, what are we doing here? We came for that dimensional tech," she said, and only then realized: "You called me Shepard."

"Yeah, of course," Garrus said, but that grating note hadn't faded.

"How come she gets to be Shepard?" Alex asked, his voice pitched higher than usual.

"Because she's the commander," Garrus replied without looking at him. And then, a beat later, they both said, "John's the commander."

"We had this conversation before," Alex finished.

"When I came aboard the _Normandy_ ," Garrus said slowly. "After Omega." He glanced toward Alex and then back toward Val. "But Alex wasn't there when I joined _you_ on the _Normandy_."

Val swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "How much do you remember?" She wanted to ask, _do you remember us_ , but it seemed out of place with Alex at her elbow.

"I remember a lot of things." Garrus rubbed the side of his head, mandibles tilting down. "They can't all be true."

"Okay," Val said, trying to keep a lid on the confused hope fluttering in her throat. "Let's talk through what just happened. We can figure this out."

"I need a smoke for that," Alex said.

"Not aboard this ship," Garrus replied, almost absent-mindedly, as if he were thinking about something else.

"Fine, then. I need coffee." Alex turned on his heel and made for the galley.

Garrus scratched at his scarred mandible. "I'd go for whiskey myself, but I didn't stock any."

Val managed a faint laugh. "Well, you didn't have much time."

"Shepard," Garrus said as she took a step toward the galley, and she looked over her shoulder to find him looking back at her with an intensity that made her blood race. "We need to talk."

"We will," she promised. "Let's sort out what's going on first."

Garrus snorted softly. "That could take years," he said, but he followed her to the galley.

They sat around the table with steaming cups of coffee and kava. Under two sets of pointed stares, Val explained, haltingly, what the Reaper had shown her. Like the Prothean beacons, so much of these visions were sensory impressions that didn't fit neatly into words. The steam had long since vanished by the time she was done.

"Let me get this straight," Alex said when she was done. "According to the Reaper, these Leviathans basically rearranged the entire cosmos just to get rid of you?"

"Unmake," Val whispered, remembering the Reaper's repetition of that word.

"Unmake, whatever." Alex pressed his head between his hands. "You realize this is impossible, right?"

"And switching her over between dimensions was possible?" Garrus asked dryly.

"No. That wasn't even my idea." Alex scowled at both of them as if it was their fault.

"People thought the Reapers were impossible, too," Val pointed out.

Alex groaned, stood up, and started pacing. "No, you don't understand. To do this, they would have had to alter reality somehow. At a quantum level, maybe. Or... imagine it like this, they completely rewrote things, selectively, like they were altering the code on a very complex simulation. Introduce a new character here, write one out over there." His hands grappled with the air, trying to illustrate his point.

"That doesn't actually sound so hard to believe," Val ventured warily.

"But it would take a colossal amount of time, or energy, or both," Alex said. "Reality is hugely more complicated than any computer simulation. Infinitely more variables, billions of sentient beings, and you can't just boil each of them down to a handful of attributes like in a game, or..." He paused, eyes unfocused. Half of his hair was standing on end. "Shit. Maybe that's exactly what they did. This is starting to make sense."

"They would have had to bring people back from the dead," Garrus said. "You always said your family died in the raid."

"Right." Val looked down. She had to force out the cold possibility she'd never wanted to consider. "Or... I might not have known, if they'd been taken."

There was a short silence. Garrus reached toward her.

"Well, I don't remember any shit like that," Alex said, loud and echoing. Garrus's hand dropped to the table. "The only thing in my head that doesn't fit is the raid. Like everything diverged from there. Bringing us back, hell. Atoms are atoms. If they're altering reality this profoundly, I don't see where constituting people out of matter is so difficult."

"And that... doesn't bother you?" Val asked, surprised.

Alex laughed. "Everything about this mess bothers me. I just uttered the wildest nonsense I could think of and it actually sounded like a reasonable explanation for observed phenomena. _That_ bothers me. Hell, to accomplish something like this — do you have any idea the massive amount of energy required? How would they even get —" He stopped. They all froze.

The realization crashed down over Val, leaving her feeling as if she'd been punched in the gut. "The Crucible."

"But that was a Prothean device," Garrus said.

Val shook her head, thinking back. "We _thought_ it was a Prothean device, because we found it in the archives on Mars. But Javik didn't know anything about it, and the Prothean VI from Thessia said the Protheans had inherited it themselves. Something passed down through the cycles, something easy to build. Only no one ever completed it before us." She felt like she was going to throw up. All that hope, pinned on one vast device, and this was their reward? "Maybe this was the plan all along."

"Or maybe the Leviathan interfered with the Crucible's construction somehow," Garrus added darkly.

Val swallowed and nodded, wondering just how long Liara had been under the Leviathan's influence. She'd been the one who found the plans in the first place. One or two well-placed Leviathan artifacts at the Crucible site, and they could have controlled the whole project.

"Either way, we're fucked," Alex announced, sounding almost manically cheerful.

"What do you mean?" Val asked.

He turned his chair around and planted himself on the seat, draping his arms over the back. "If it takes an energy discharge on the level of the Crucible's blast to make changes like this, there's no way to duplicate it. The Crucible's in pieces and we don't know how to set it off. Not enough resources and labor available to construct a new one, if we even knew what to do with it."

Val lowered her head. No going back, the Reaper had said. The enormity of everything they'd revealed settled like a cold weight, bending her shoulders. If Alex was right, there was really no getting back to the reality she knew. Her stomach churned. She wondered, for a bitter moment, why the Reaper couldn't have changed her memories, too, making it easier for her to fit into the world around her.

She did her best to muster up Commander Shepard's confidence. "Leviathan's up to something, though," she said. "And somehow I don't think they've got our best interests at heart." The words felt hollow, in spite of her best efforts.

"So what are you thinking?" Garrus asked.

She shrugged and lifted her chin. "So, we go on. We figure out what they're up to, and we try to put a stop to it." That sounded better. Still pretty desperate, though.

"Just like that?" Alex asked, disbelieving.

She shot him a tight smile. "Well, it'll be a little more complicated than that, but that's why we've got your brains around, right?"

Several expressions rippled across his face: surprise, horror, curiosity; he finally settled on a sneer. "Meanwhile the Reaper goes and fucks with our heads for no reason," he muttered.

"I don't understand that part, either, I've got to say," Garrus said.

Alex shrugged. "Reapers alter brains all the time through indoctrination. I'm not sure it makes _less_ sense than anything else." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Garrus. "You never did say what you remembered."

Garrus settled back in his chair, carefully nonchalant. Val held her breath, wondering.

"I remember both Shepards," he said finally. To Alex's curled lip, he added, "Both Commanders. Some missions I remember going down in different ways. First one thing, and then another. It's a little confusing."

Val exhaled and tried to relax her tense posture.

"Huh." Alex's eyes darted between the two of them. "Care to elaborate on that?"

"Not really," Garrus said after a moment.

Alex looked prepared to argue the point, but before he could say anything more, Garrus went on, "In the meantime, let's get out of here. I'll go set a course to the Charon relay."

He rose and left the room, heading toward the cockpit. Val watched him go out of the corner of her eye. She had a fairly good idea of what he wasn't saying, or at least, she hoped she did.

His departure left her alone with Alex, who frowned, leaning back in his seat, and drank the rest of his coffee. He kept rearranging himself in his chair, as if he couldn't get comfortable.

Val wouldn't have wished her own memories of the attack on Mindoir on anyone. For someone else to have them, suddenly —

"Alex, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He pushed himself away from the table in a jerky motion, and took his cup back to the coffee pot.

She chewed on her lip and then tried again. "Because if you want to talk, I'm here."

He snorted, his back to her as he poured himself more coffee. "It's just a memory. It's not even clear. Fuzzy, like any long-ago memory."

"Still," she said, watching the stiffness in his posture. "I know it's a lot to deal with."

"How did you survive?" He turned around, turning sharp attention on her.

Val took a breath. Her own memory of that morning was easy to summon up, well-worn in spite of its horror. "I went out for a morning run. I had a free period first thing in the morning anyway, so I just kept running."

"Right," he said softly. "You did that a lot."

"Yeah, some of the teachers didn't care, so I usually didn't get written up. That morning I saw the smoke while I was out, and started back, and... I guess you know what I found."

"Yeah." He shook his head and returned to the table. "It's not like I remember the actual moment of dying," he said, fast and clipped. "I remember alarms going off, and the teachers marching us into the storm shelter. I remember having a moment where I was sure I was going to die, and then nothing."

Val winced, thinking about drifting in space, panicking when she realized her oxygen line was ruptured. "Yeah. I get that."

"The problem isn't what I'm remembering, it's having these memories just stuffed into my head in the first place," Alex said.

Val looked skeptically at him. He scowled back. "All right, it's a little bit what I'm remembering."

"I don't expect you to be okay with any of this," she said, keeping her voice calm.

Alex made a noise in his throat. "You're being so _nice_. It's weird. You do realize Shepard — the other Shepard — would be telling me to suck it up and get my head on straight right now."

Val gritted her teeth. "I knew I didn't like that guy."

To her surprise, Alex grinned. "I didn't talk to him that much, but I heard him talking to other people. I don't know. The tough love shit has its place sometimes. I do need to get my head on straight if I'm going to make any sense of this." He passed a hand absently through his hair, already matted and rumpled. "I mean, complete rewriting of reality, that's huge. Obviously. And I guess the joke's on me, because I always complained that you thought the universe revolved around you. Surprise surprise, it actually does."

Val shook her head, loathing that image of herself with every fiber of her being. "Alex, come on. I know we pissed each other off when we were kids. That's what siblings do, right? And we were _kids_ , and we were in each other's spaces all the time. But was I really that bad? I just..." She took a deep breath, trying to sort through the haze of grief and gold-tinted nostalgia that colored all her childhood memories. Even so, they couldn't be that far wrong, could they? "We were friends, too, weren't we? What happened to us?"

Alex frowned at the table and took a swift gulp of coffee. Val bit back her impatience and waited while he took a surprisingly long time to drink it. Finally he said, "You left. You got off Mindoir and you hardly came home any more."

"Well, yeah," she said, momentarily glad that she'd looked up her own records. At least she had some context for what he was saying. "I turned eighteen, and I went to the Alliance Academy." It might not have been exactly the same as she remembered, but she remembered enough. There had been a ton of work, she'd drifted away from her foster parents. The trip back to Mindoir would have been too long to take except between terms.

"I know, I know," Alex said, sounding weary. His shoulders slumped. "I wasn't mad that you left, but it was just... weird. You were never around any more. And then I left for uni, which is what I wanted, but..." He shook his head. "I will kill you if you tell Mama this _ever_ , but she was right, it was hard to be that far from home at sixteen."

"You were sixteen?" Val asked in disbelief, even though it made a kind of sense. Alex had always been the smartest of them, ahead of most of the other kids his age. He could have finished up all his schoolwork on Mindoir by sixteen, easy.

"Yeah." Alex cast her one quick sharp look. "Most of my classmates were older, of course. That was okay most of the time, but sometimes it was a little weird." He shook his head. "I understood better then. It was hard to get home, there were always things to do where I was. And I didn't want to let on to Mama that things weren't perfect, because she never would have let me hear the end of it. If she'd known my roommate that first year had a Hallex habit, she would have gone ballistic and insisted I come home. But you weren't exactly around to talk to, either."

"I'm sorry," she said. The words felt small and inadequate.

"And whenever you did come home, it was always the Val show. Everyone flocking around, all excited about whatever you'd been doing. You got invited back to school to talk up your service. And you hardly ever came home before I left, but somehow you managed to visit a lot more when I was in grad school."

"I had leave between missions sometimes, I suppose," Val said slowly, trying to picture it. She'd actually spent that leave doing nothing in particular, usually. "If I was stationed out in the colonies anyway, it wouldn't have been hard to get home for a few days. Not like getting back from Earth." Which was at least two relay jumps from anywhere.

"Yeah." Alex sighed. "I guess that must have been it. It just seemed like Mama was always talking about what you were doing when she called, and why didn't I ever come home, and... well, you know how she is."

"Yeah." Even if you were trying not to mind it, Mama's constant stream of advice or correction could be hard to take. "Did I ever visit you?"

Alex shrugged. "Couple times. Early in grad school. I couldn't just drop everything when you showed up, though. I had experiments and shit to do. You got bored."

Val winced, picturing how she might have acted. Hit the bars by herself, probably, or hung around bugging Alex until she was driving him crazy. "I'm sorry."

"Eh," Alex said. "It wasn't really you, was it?"

She didn't have an easy answer to that. She hesitated a moment. "Maybe not, but I'm still sorry."

"Thanks, I guess." He leaned back in his chair. "But, you want to know what happened with us? That's what. We were just in different places doing different things, and we were both kind of shit at calling or writing. Mostly Dad or Mama passed messages back and forth, and it's not like I was telling them everything."

Val nodded. "I bet I wasn't, either."

"Probably. I mean, who does tell their parents everything?"

It all sounded painfully plausible. She didn't remember what he was talking about, but she did remember being twenty and twenty-two, full of herself and focused on her career. She hadn't had her family to think about or compare anything to do, but if she had — oh, it would have been so easy to take everyone for granted, to be insufferable with her own success.

For a moment she hated that other version of herself, and then she shook her head. No point in dwelling on those mistakes. "Listen, I really am sorry I was a shitty sister."

Alex snorted.

"No, really. That's not... I wish things had been different." When she'd been sixteen and seventeen, she'd lain awake in bed at her foster parents' house, wishing her brothers were there, and she'd imagined everything so simple: hugs and comfort and perfect trust. "Waking up with everything changed — that's been — hard — but having you here, and knowing the rest of the family is okay, that's the good part."

Alex's eyebrows shot up. "I tied you to a chair and interrogated you."

Val found, by now, that remembering that night no longer made her flinch. As grueling as the whole ordeal had been, she could understand why he'd done it, and she had faith now that it wouldn't happen again. "If I thought someone was impersonating you, I probably would have done the same," she said, and meant it. "I missed you. I'd like to do better."

He stared at her incredulously for a long moment. Then his eyes shifted away, and he took another drink of coffee. "I guess we could both do better."

"Yeah," Val said, relieved. "Maybe."

Alex ran a hand through his hair again and made a face. "I'm going to hit the shower."

Val nodded as he drained his mug and headed off. She let out a slow breath. She hadn't been sure if Alex would accept her overture. It was a relief that he had: one piece of her life inching into some kind of order. Left alone now, even the buzz of caffeine through her nervous system couldn't mask her exhaustion. She felt slow and heavy, as if her bones had turned to stone and were weighing her down.

She rose, intending to go sink into her bunk, and stopped short on seeing Garrus in the corridor.

"We're on our way to the relay," he said. Val had been so caught up in her conversation with Alex that she hadn't even noticed the engines engaging as the ship took off. "Shepard, we need to talk."

Her mouth went dry. Hope and fear tangled in her chest. "It's been a long day."

Garrus tipped his head down. His eyes seemed to pierce through her. "You really want to put this off?"

_Yes_. "No." Much as part of her longed to retreat, she rejected that idea. Better to say what needed to be said now, and then... at least she'd know. "What do you remember?"

He took one step toward her. "I don't know if I remember everything, but I think I remember enough. You pulled my ass out of the fire on Omega. You were the only one talking sense about the Reapers. Every mission together, I had your back, while you rocketed around the battlefield like a damned missile."

She almost laughed at that, it was such a familiar complaint. Garrus took one more step and added, "One-turian woman, you said," and her laughter died.

"Yeah. I did." She moistened her lips. She'd been afraid that these memories, the most important thing, would be missing. That the Reapers would have found one more way to screw her over. It didn't make sense — not that any of it did — but even now, she wasn't sure she could trust fragile, easily confounded memories. Her chest felt tight, guarded. "What did we do after that?"

Garrus cocked his head. "We had a hell of a good time in a skycar," he said, with a familiar suggestive rumble in his voice.

Val let out a breath. A little of her tension eased. "Yeah, we did."

"And then we went down and filed some papers, and made some promises. I'm assuming you haven't forgotten."

People talked about your wedding day being the happiest day of your life. Val wouldn't have said that, necessarily, but it was one of the best days she'd had in the last year, that was for sure. She shook her head. "No, I haven't. And Tali will never forgive —" She stopped herself as Garrus lowered his head.

The Leviathan might have rebuilt her family, but whatever they'd done had killed Tali. And Joker, and more.

"She was so mad," Garrus said, in the soft way people talked about departed friends. He lifted his head to look her in the eye. "So do I pass the test?"

Val's hands tightened into fists. "A few weeks ago you didn't know who I was."

"I know now," he said. "Shepard..." He took one step closer, and reached out, armored hands curling around hers. She let him, even though her heart was beating wildly, caught between hope and a nameless terror. The grip was familiar, armored gloves and all, their hands used to fitting together in spite of the disparity in size and shape.

"You sure you still feel the same way?" Her voice came out rough, shaking a little.

"Nothing's changed on my end."

She laughed, quick and incredulous. "Everything's changed."

"The galaxy may have changed," he said, "and yeah, my head's full of two sets of memories, and that's a little..."

"Terrifying?" she suggested when he paused.

"I was going to go with 'weird.' Shepard." His grip tightened as he bent his head toward her. "I remember fighting with the other Shepard, sure, but when I look back on it now, I know something was missing, the whole time. Everything might have turned upside down, but this doesn't have to change."

She squeezed his hands back, feeling like a dam about to burst. "Garrus."

"Shepard," he answered, voice warm and low.

The breath that escaped her was more like a sob. She leaned forward, and Garrus bent down to meet her, brow to brow; and with the next sob, he dropped one of her hands and snaked an arm around her. Everything so right, so familiar: the slight roughness of his plated skin against hers, the wiry strength of his arm around her shoulders.

The dam burst, and she lost track of how she stood there, having a ragged little cry, with Garrus a steady, solid bulwark around her, until she heard a voice distinctly say, "Oh, hell."

Val's head jerked up, and she turned to see Alex fidgeting next to the lavatory entrance, hair dripping wet. He said, "Could you, like..."

Val and Garrus said simultaneously, "We were just..." and stopped.

Alex's mouth twisted. "Yeah. I see that. I would totally go somewhere else, if there were anywhere else to go on this ship, but..."

Val stepped back, though she let go of Garrus's hand only reluctantly. "I need to sleep anyway," she said. Exhaustion had seeped into her right down to the bone, and her head was still spinning from everything that had happened. As much as she might want to make some impulsive decisions, a few hours of sleep sounded like what she needed.

"Yeah. Don't we all," said Garrus with dry cheer.

Val hid a smile, and retreated into her cabin.


	21. Chapter 20

Exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotional pulled Val quickly into sleep. Waking was like pulling herself out of a hole, thrashing, while husks grabbed after her with cold hands as she ran, desperately.

She sat up so abruptly she nearly cracked her head on the upper bunk. Wiping both hands over her face, she tried to orient herself.

Where — oh. Garrus’s little scout ship. She’d slept soundly, though the sense of restless dreams still clung to her in a haze. Fire and destruction, mass relays winking out like broken light bulbs, Reapers crashing to Earth —

Dreams like this had a certain familiarity to them, just the kind of thing she had to expect after a day of something messing with her head, like bruises after a hard fight. What did it say about her life that this sort of shit seemed routine?

Nothing good, she decided, and reached for her hairbrush. Her mouth tasted sour, and hunger clawed at her stomach. She’d fallen into bed without eating, too worn out by the enormity of everything that had happened. Breakfast would have to be a marathon this morning.

Just as she finished twisting her hair back into a knot, someone tapped at her door, in a familiar pattern.

Garrus.

Val froze for a moment, her pulse quickening. Part of her felt like the day before might have been a dream, that once she walked out of this space, they’d go right back to not knowing her any more.

There was only one way to find out.

“Hey,” Garrus said, leaning against the doorframe, as if he were just casually hanging out in the corridor outside her room.

“Hey,” Val replied.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah.” She stepped aside to let him in, and shut the door behind him.

This cabin allegedly could house two turians, but it seemed small for the two of them, even though Garrus was in civvies instead of armor. 

Val was still in the soft shirt and pants she’d slept in, for that matter, and felt tender and exposed without the security of a uniform around her. She curled her fingers into her palms, conscious both of the privacy of the space, and of the distance between them.

Garrus said, looking around at the walls rather than at her, “You know, it feels like I should be angry with you for that evacuation bullshit.”

Val stiffened, remembering that last nightmare night in London. A flash of relief that he still remembered passed quickly, and she licked her lips, trying to recall what had been going through her mind then. Mostly she remembered a haze of fear and dread — she’d been prepared to face her own fate, but she couldn’t leave her injured team behind.  “It was my call. I had to get you out of there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his attention toward her. “You took me out.”

“Yeah, I did.” She straightened, firing off her reasons, crisp and bullet-like. “You and Tali were both wounded, I didn’t know how badly, there was no time to take care of it in the field —”

Garrus cut her off. “Thought we promised to be there together in the end.”

She bit back the rest of her justifications. Her nerves prickled defensively, but underneath, her heart pounded. _He remembered_. Even the bad parts.

“I know,” she conceded. “I just —”

“Took it on yourself, like usual.” Garrus didn’t even take a full step, only leaned toward her a little, looming.

“Who was I supposed to put it on?” she demanded, her temper flaring again. “It was my call. I was in charge. I was in command and I made the decision.”

“And you decided to go it alone. This is what I’m talking about, Shepard. You get a lot pinned on you, but you act like you have to do it all yourself.”

She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. “We’re really going to fight about this? Now?” Revisiting that desperate night really wasn’t on her to-do list for the day.

Garrus let out a soft breath. “No. Sorry. I didn’t come here to argue. But this one? This Leviathan thing. We finish this together, Shepard.”

She swallowed, her chest tightening. Ever since she woke up in this altered world, she’d felt out of place, cut off from the people around her. She’d relied on her partnership with Garrus for so long, not having it felt like half of herself was missing.

And yet, with him right here, promising that partnership, she couldn’t stop herself from throwing up walls. “It’s not that simple. What if we can’t? What if one of us is hurt, or...”

“Not this time,” Garrus said, spacing out the words deliberately. “We take our time and we do it right. Together.”

Val closed her eyes, feeling shaky. “Garrus,” she whispered. “I —”

“We both know that’s not a promise we can make,” he said. “I’m just telling you how it should be.”

“It’s not that I _want_ to do it all on my own,” she said, the words spilling out. “But sometimes I don’t see another way.”

With her eyes closed, she felt the warmth of his presence in her space, and his breath, before his forehead touched hers. Val sucked in a ragged breath at the familiarity of the gesture, and of the warm, rough surface of his skin. The loneliness of the last few weeks felt like a chasm, and she gave up fighting off the impulse to touch him, tipping up her face to kiss his mouth.

He responded eagerly, kissing her back the way they’d learned together: his suede-like mouth-plates pressing against her lips, soft flicks of his tongue against her mouth. She stretched up toward him — she was tall, but he’d always been taller — reached both hands up toward his neck, one side rough and scarred, the other smoother, pebbled with small scales. All the distance she’d tried to hard to maintain since she’d seen him again vanished as he pulled her in, his chest hard against her, his arms firm around her. Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop drinking him in, sliding her tongue along the edge of his mandible. The edges of his talons pricked against the bared skin of her back, as her shirt rode up and he gripped harder, nuzzling her cheek and the side of her neck, and she tipped her head to the side with a sigh.

Her stomach rumbled, loud and insistent, and they both froze, Garrus with one hand pressed against her back under her shirt. “Something you’re trying to tell me, Shepard?” he inquired.

“I didn’t exactly eat yesterday,” Val admitted into the crook of his neck and shoulder, light-headed in more ways than one.

“Then maybe we finish this later?”

She pulled away reluctantly, knowing he was right; her overpowered biotic metabolism needed fuel if she wasn’t going to pass out or lose her temper every five seconds. “Yeah. I’ll, uh...”

“See you at breakfast,” Garrus said, and departed.

Val blew out a breath, ruffled and frustrated, and skimmed out of her pajamas and into uniform as fast as she ever had.

Alex sat in the mess hall facing her door, already deep into a cup of coffee. He raised his eyebrows at her when she came out. Garrus was over at the sideboard preparing his own meal, but Alex had to have seen Garrus come out of her room only moments before she did.

“What?” she asked Alex in an undertone.

“Good morning to you, too,” he returned.

Val looked him over warily. She’d never had to contemplate bringing Garrus home to the family. She wasn’t sure she could handle the possibility of familial judgment, but if it was going to be there she wanted to know about it. “If you’ve got something to say, go ahead and say it.”

Alex shook his head. “I do not. Third wheel’s an interesting new feeling, though.”

Val, about to head over to grab her own coffee and breakfast, glanced back at him with a wince, suddenly feeling guilty. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You never brought anyone home, you know.” Alex shrugged. “So I’ve never seen you with anyone. It’s different.”

She hesitated for a moment, wondering what _different_ meant, and then gave up trying to parse that one on an empty stomach.

They ate with little conversation; Alex seemed content to stare into his coffee, Val focused on cramming as many calories into her mouth as she could manage, and Garrus glanced at a datapad from time to time. When Val had finally finished eating, pushing her empty plate away and slouching back in her chair with a comfortable sigh, Garrus finally spoke. “So. When we get back, what are we telling who?”

Val sighed again, this time not from satisfaction. The problem was a sticky one: Talitha and Samantha knew why they’d really gone, the Hierarchy and the Alliance had a cover story, and then there was her mother. What the Reaper had told her was hard enough for the three of them to believe, let alone anyone else, especially without more evidence than they could muster. On top of that: “We can’t be certain who’s already compromised by the Leviathan,” she said. “I think it’s better to keep this close.”

Alex added, “Besides, we go around saying a Reaper told us this whole universe is a construct and jammed memories into our heads, people are going to think we’re insane.”

“Or indoctrinated,” Garrus added.

Val shot them a tight smile. “Now you know how I’ve been feeling.”

Alex returned a flicker of a lopsided smile before frowning at the table. Garrus’s mandibles twitched. “At least we can be reasonably certain we’re not all going crazy in exactly the same way.”

They all chuckled, and Val leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. “Okay, let’s figure out what we want to say.”

They worked it around for hours, considering an assortment of alternatives: how much to say about the facility, about their encounter with Miranda, all of it. What the Reaper had shown Val, what Alex and Garrus now remembered, they agreed to keep under wraps, except for those already privy to Val’s strange existence.

She’d been burned before. Insisting on the validity of the Prothean beacon’s visions might have alerted the galaxy to the reality of Reapers, but it had also given Commander Shepard a reputation that hadn’t always served her well. Losing credibility now could be dangerous for all of them; they were better off playing things cautiously.

There was a comfort and solidarity in talking through the problem with smart people who believed in her, but by the time they were done, all she wanted to do was hit the treadmill and run until her scurrying thoughts — Reapers, Leviathan, Garrus — wore themselves out into restful silence. Their journey didn’t have much longer, at least; Garrus had headed toward the pilot’s seat to monitor their approach to Terra Nova.

#

An hour later, as the shuttle eased down toward the campsite, Val felt the ship stutter for a moment.

She tensed immediately. This was supposed to be a routine landing, nothing to worry about. Before she had time to invent worst-case scenarios, Garrus called out, deliberately calm, “Shepard, could you come here for a minute?”

“What is it?” she asked, approaching the cockpit. “If there’s a problem with the shuttle—”

“I’d just like to make sure you’re seeing what I’m seeing. Or more accurately, what I’m not seeing.”

She looked out the viewscreen, and shut her mouth, frowning. The sprawling Alliance camp she’d grown familiar with in the weeks before, gray prefab buildings and muddy trails, was nowhere to be seen. Only open ground, grassy, with a curving trail that might be a running path. No signs that hundreds of Alliance personnel had been based here only days earlier.

“Where are we?” she asked, puzzled.

“At the camp. I swear these are the right coordinates,” Garrus said tightly.

“Right coordinates for what?” Alex asked, behind Val’s shoulder. She shifted to the side so he could peer out the windows, too. Alex frowned and glanced at her quizzically. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“The camp,” Garrus said, a tremor somewhere under his tightly controlled voice.

Alex’s eyebrows twitched. “Well, fuck.”

“Great, at least it’s not just me losing my mind,” Garrus said.

“What the hell,” Alex muttered.

“See if you can get them on the comm,” Val suggested, thinking rapidly.

“Right.” Garrus reached for the communications controls. “Alliance Control, this is turian shuttle V2150, do you read?”

They waited, Val’s nerves tensing,  but it was only a few seconds before the reply came: “Shuttle V2150, we read you. Are you in need of assistance? You’re way off course.”

Relief coursed through her as Garrus said, “Ah, yeah, could you transmit correct coordinates, Alliance Control? Over.”

The coordinates followed, though the person on the other end of the comm sounded vaguely suspicious. Alex murmured, “They probably think we’re messing with them.”

Val’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to laugh.

The new coordinates took them to a location some six kilometers away. Peering through the viewscreen, Val thought she recognized some of the buildings: a large, squat structure that had to be HQ, another that was likely the mess hall, a few clusters of buildings that were probably the labs, or maybe the exercise facilities. She couldn’t be sure from this distance. Everything looked familiar and strange at once, as if the camp had been scooped up like a set of building blocks and dumped down in a different arrangement.

It also looked as though everything had been there for a while: the paths were well trodden, people moving around at ease, the buildings grubby and set firmly in place.

“We all see this, right?” Garrus said as he steered the shuttle in. There was a grating burr in his subharmonics, a sign of discomfort. “Those were the right coordinates, I swear. I returned to the coordinates we took off from.”

“I’m definitely seeing this,” Val said cautiously. “Everything’s... rearranged.”

“So the camp just up and moved while we were away, and the old site looks completely untouched.”

“Which is impossible,” Alex put in, “but then what isn’t, these days.”

“Let’s see what’s going on,” Val said. This wasn’t the return she’d expected; this part was supposed to be routine. Things were only supposed to get complicated once they were on the ground. The unexplained anomaly had her tense, hyperaware of anything out of place.

Yet nothing seemed out of place. The shuttle landed smoothly, and the check-in process was boringly routine. Even the private who handled the paperwork looked vaguely familiar. Around them, the camp felt much as it ever had: people bustling about their business, in and out of hastily assembled prefabs that by now looked distinctly grubby, sometimes even a little dilapidated.

Her omni-tool pinged as it connected with the local comm net. When Val checked it, she found a string of messages from her mother, one from Coats, and a few others from IDs she didn’t recognize. Talitha, maybe, or Traynor. She closed the list unread for the moment and hesitated, irresolute. Garrus and Alex, on either side of her, seemed equally uncertain.

“What now?” Alex asked under his breath.

“Normally I’d check in with HQ. Command probably wants a report.” If she remembered the aerial view correctly, the building was now to the north.

“I’ll need to make my report to the Hierarchy, too,” Garrus said. “Too bad the facility was a bust. It would be nice to have more to give them.”

Alex grumbled. “I don’t even know where my lab is.”

“Wait.” Val activated her omni-tool again. Sure enough, the camp map downloaded to her ‘tool was up to date. “At least we can find our way around.”

They made their way toward HQ, picking their way along paths simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. Val kept checking her omni-tool to make sure they were headed the right direction, even though they couldn’t have more than a kilometer to go. She was looking down for the fifth time when a voice called out, “Hey! There you are!”

Val let the call blow by, assuming the speaker was addressing someone else, until Alex stiffened beside her. Startled by his reaction, she looked up and saw a sandy-haired young man heading toward them, waving frantically. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Who’s—”

“It’s Misha,” Alex hissed.

“Misha?” Val said, stunned.

“Our brother,” Alex said, as if she’d forget.

She wasn’t _forgetting_. It was more a sort of cognitive dissonance that made her stomach lurch. She’d gotten used to Alex and Mama being around — especially Alex, since they’d been spending so much time working together. She’d known her other brothers were out there somewhere, but somehow she hadn’t prepared herself mentally to see another.

“How many brothers do you have?” Garrus asked in a low voice.

“Three,” Val replied.

Then Misha was there, unexpectedly catching her in a solid hug.

It was... just about the perfect hug, encompassing her with the exact right amount of squeeze, even though she was stiff and unprepared for it.

He’d always given the best hugs. But then, at eight and nine and ten, he’d been the cuddliest of her brothers.

“You’re back!” he said cheerfully. “You should have messaged me.”

When he stepped back, she stared into his smiling face, searching for the boy she’d last known as ten. He looked older, of course, grown into the Shepard nose, his face settled into firm adult lines instead of the softer roundness he’d had as a child. But the smile was the same, wide and bright as sunshine, and the eyes, and the way a bit of fair hair curled over his forehead. Her heart thumped, and she smiled back, helplessly, the way she’d always done for him. Even after spending hours in Alex’s company, she hadn’t quite thought she’d see Misha again. “Hey,” she said softly.

Though he was still smiling, Misha’s brow creased slightly, puzzled at her reaction. Alex bailed her out, saying, “We literally landed ten minutes ago.”

“You said you would, though.” Misha turned to Alex with the same hug. Val noticed, bemused, that he was a couple of inches taller than Alex these days. Misha finished by offering a hand to Garrus. “Got them back safe and sound, I see.”

“Ah... yeah,” Garrus said, taking the offered hand. “No troubles, really.”

“Great! Mama’ll be glad to hear it,” Misha said, smiling.

“How do you know Garrus?” Val asked before she could stop herself.

Misha gave her a puzzled look. “You introduced us before you left, remember?”

_Before they left?_ Val had to fight to keep a neutral expression on her face. None of that made any sense.

“Right,” Alex said, recovering quicker. “What have you been doing around here without us, anyway?”

Misha shrugged, falling into step as they started walking again. “Not much. I can stand guard duty, I guess, but I’m just an irregular. I’m still hoping I can get back home before much longer. The transports are all jammed up and there’s not a lot of traffic heading back toward Mindoir yet.” He sighed. “I just want to see for myself how things are there, you know?”

“You just want to get your hands back in the dirt,” Alex said, affectionately. The warmth in his tone was so at odds with his usual cynicism that it startled Val. Mentally, she kicked herself. She really shouldn’t be surprised; Alex had always had a soft spot for Misha, too.

Misha chuckled. “You got me.”

“Pretty sure the dirt will still be there, no matter what.”

“Yeah, but _I_ _’m_ not there.” Misha sighed. “Maybe I can start a garden or something.”

An awkward silence fell, as Val cast about for something to say to her brother. The sight of the blocky shape that had to be HQ came as a relief. She said, “We have to report in, but...”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll let Mama know you’re back and catch up with you at dinner, yeah?” Without waiting for a reply, Misha waved and headed off, with a bounce in his step that reminded Val of childhood.

Watching him go, Val said, “So he’s... doing agriculture?”

“Like Dad, yeah. Soil science,” Alex replied. He chuckled faintly. “Dad tried not to show it, but he was thrilled one of us followed in his footsteps.”

Val squinted as Misha disappeared into the crowd. “Mama must be thrilled one of us stayed close to home.”

Alex snorted. “That, too.”

They turned to head into the building. “So when did Misha get taller than you?” Val asked Alex, nudging him with her elbow.

He narrowed his eyes in a glare. “Shut up.”

“Does this mean you’re the shortest one in the family?”

“Shut _up_.” 

Garrus coughed. Val grinned back at Alex, and they walked into HQ.

They’d guessed right, at least; the building actually was HQ, and they only had to wait a few minutes before being ushered into Coats’s office. Val was relieved to find that he looked the same, as far as she could tell. He also recognized both them and their mission, and listened to her and Alex’s well-rehearsed report with only minimal comments.

These were small things, but at this point, anything that went as she expected it to was reassuring.

“One thing you should know,” Garrus said as they finished. “We encountered another team entering the facility as we left. An independent team led by Miranda Lawson.”

Val kept her face still as Coats looked at Garrus, his mouth pursing in thought. “Lawson, eh? You didn’t stop to see what she wanted?”

“I considered it inadvisable to engage further with Lawson’s team at that time,” Garrus replied blandly.

They’d agreed on this. The decision still nagged at Val; her instincts told her to cover Miranda’s presence. Garrus had argued that they had no idea of Miranda’s agenda or loyalties at this point. She’d reluctantly agreed, in the end, that they shouldn’t leave the Alliance ignorant of what could be a Cerberus resurgence. Garrus knew Miranda better here, after all; Val had to remember that she couldn’t trust Miranda they way she wanted to.

Coats grunted. “We don’t want to see Cerberus back, that’s for certain. We’ll have to keep an eye on it. We appreciate the intel.”

“It’s the same as I’ll tell my own superiors,” Garrus said.

Coats took that in and nodded. “Appreciate the cooperation, too. Good to be able to count on one ally.”

“I’d hope we could count on all of them,” Val said, concerned. Was the wartime alliance falling apart already?

“Tell that to the asari,” Coats muttered.

“What’s going on with the asari?” Garrus asked.

“Hell if I know. They’ve gotten very close-mouthed over there.” Coats shrugged and then seemed to collect himself. “This is not for public consumption.”

“Of course,” Garrus said, professionally neutral.

Val and Alex acknowledged that as well, and Coats dismissed them, running a hand over his thinning hair.

Val chewed that over as they left HQ, disquieted by the possibility of something strange going on among the asari. How many Leviathan artifacts were out there? How much were the Leviathan guiding the galaxy the way they wanted it?

“Listen,” Garrus said, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s not just me, right? The camp isn’t supposed to be here. Your brother isn’t supposed to be here.”

“He sure as hell wasn’t here when we left,” Alex said.

“He’s acting like he was here, though,” Val replied.

Garrus said, “I just want to be clear. We’re all seeing and hearing this, right?”

Alex only nodded, lips pressed tight together.

Val blew out a breath. “Yeah.” The very ordinariness of the camp around them unsettled her, leaving her unsure whether she was being lulled into a sense of normality, or whether the ground was about to shift under her feet. Again.

At least, she reminded herself, Garrus and Alex were with her this time. She wasn’t as alone as when she’d first awakened. The thought bolstered her.

“Right, then. As long as we’re all seeing this.” Garrus glanced at his omni-tool. “I need to get back to the turian camp. Assuming it’s where I left it, anyway.”

“Be careful,” Val said. The plan of acting normal had seemed like a better one when everything _was_ normal. Now she didn’t know what Garrus would be walking into, and he’d be on his own in the Hierarchy camp.

“I’m always careful,” he said, deadpan. And obviously lying; Val could remember plenty of times when Garrus’s much-professed caution had been a myth.

He sketched a vague salute, though, and strode off, and she had to let him go with no more than a professional nod back. She watched his armored form pass by the humans on the trails, head and shoulders taller than most of them, and tried not to worry. Garrus knew how to take care of himself.

“Right.” Alex frowned at the schematic on his omni-tool. “Let’s go see if we can find my lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after Andromeda- and work-related hiatus, and hopefully resuming a more regular update schedule. Thanks for reading!


	22. Chapter 21

It took Alex and Val a few tries to find the right lab space. First they walked into what looked like a chemistry lab, with unfamiliar people in it. With a quick exchange of glances, they turned around and walked out as nonchalantly as possible, sure they were in the wrong place. Next they had a bad moment when Alex tried a passcode on a locked door, only to have an error message returned.

“The question is,” Alex muttered, frowning at the lock, “whether this is the wrong building, or whether the code changed with everything else.”

“Let’s try other buildings and come back if we need to,” Val replied, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching them.

“Yeah. Guess I can always hack it.”

“Or break it,” Val suggested, summoning up a wisp of corona.

Alex looked offended. “Let’s try the less destructive method first. Oh wait, that’s foreign to your entire nature.” He smirked as he said it, his tone more sarcastic than harsh.

Val grinned as they kept walking. Joking around felt good, as if they’d actually grown up together instead of having that time cut short. Alex had insisted on keeping her at arm’s length before, but he seemed willing to drop those barriers now.

The door to the next lab building was unlocked, and when they ventured in, Val was relieved to see a familiar figure slouching at the console. At the sound of the door opening, Talitha spun around on her chair, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my God! You’re back! How was the trip? Did they really have a portal to another dimension?”

Val winced, her relief turned to chagrin. Their departure for Luna, hoping for that portal, seemed like a long time and too many revelations ago. Before she could gather her wits, Alex answered, stalking across the room and flinging himself into the other chair. “No, they fucked that up amazingly, plus some of them had gotten killed and the rest had run off. Best guess is they managed to create some kind of matter-transmission effect that they couldn’t control.” He dug an OSD out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. “I grabbed their data, at least.”

“Wow, that could be amazingly useful!”

“Maybe, but I doubt it really matters, anyway.”

“Matter, ha, I see what you did there.” Then Talitha frowned. “Wait, why not?”

Alex crossed his arms and cocked his head toward Val. “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”

Val blew out a breath. “It turns out I’m not from a parallel dimension.”

Talitha jerked upright, startled. “What? How do you know?”

“Reality changed around her,” Alex put in, crisp and clipped. “Altered at a quantum level. You haven’t taken that artifact out of the case, have you?”

“Duh, of course not, it’s been shielded the whole time,” Talitha said. “Come on, stop being obscure and tell me what’s going on.”

Val shot Alex a glare for his unhelpfulness and told her the whole story, more slowly: everything the Reaper had said, and done, and the conclusions they’d drawn from that. Talitha listened, her face set in concentration as she took everything in.

When Val had finished, she said slowly, “So you believe what the Reaper said?”

Val paused at that. No matter how bizarre the story was, it felt right, a deep and terrible certainty rooted in her bones and her gut. The words and visions it had given her, as confusing as they were, had the same diamond clarity as the visions from the Prothean beacon.

“Given what it put in my head, yeah,” Alex said, pulling up a screen full of data.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Val said. “But somehow, the Leviathan changed the world around me.”

A small silence fell. Talitha said, “But then we’re supposed to be dead, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Alex returned his attention to the monitor.

“My family was. You actually weren’t killed in the attack,” Val said, and then wondered, with a lurch, if she should have said that.

“I wasn’t?” Talitha cocked her head.

Since she’d started, she might as well tell her the truth. “You were captured.”

Talitha’s eyes widened for a second. Alex shot Val an indecipherable look.

Talitha shook her head, her jaw tightening. “Well, that was then. It didn’t happen here. But you said Alex was dead? So whatever happened put him back together?”

“Atoms are atoms.” Alex shrugged, his eyes drifting back to his screen.

“Alex!” Talitha aimed a kick him at his the leg. Alex barely pulled his foot out of the way in time.

“I still think that if we’re talking about quantum-level alterations of reality, bringing people back to life is trivial in comparison,” he said.

“But... ughh.” Talitha stood up, pacing in circles around the open space and rubbing her temples. “I’m trying to get my head around this. So you think the Crucible thing discharged enough energy that they... could actually reality? Trying to get rid of Val?”

Val nodded before changing her mind. “Trying to get rid of Commander Shepard.” It was Commander Shepard, leader and symbol of the fight against the Reapers, who had threatened the Leviathan, promised to fight them if she had to. It was that defiance which had caused them to try to _unmake_ her. All the material of her life, her family, her friends, were only insignificant toys to them. She suppressed a shudder.

“But it didn’t work, right? You’re still here.” Talitha looked at Val earnestly. “Why didn’t it work?”

She exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t know.” The question sank into her mind like a stone. Somehow, in trying to come to grips with all of this, she hadn’t asked that question.

“Now that is an interesting question.” Alex turned away from his monitor, looking at her with curiosity. “Maybe the universe abhors a Commander Shepard vacuum.”

Talitha chuckled. Val managed a thin smile.

“They did end up with a different Commander Shepard,” Talitha said thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Even if I am, that doesn’t explain why your memory wasn’t altered to fit their new reality, though.”

She took a breath, thinking it over. “I was the closest person to the Crucible when it discharged. Maybe that had something to do with it?”

“Maybe.” Alex cocked his head; he and Talitha were both looking at Val speculatively, which made her feel like a bug under a microscope. “Let’s go with that as a working hypothesis, anyway. Not that it really matters, either, since we can’t duplicate the effect.”

“Is there anything else that could produce that much energy?” Talitha asked.

“It was a unique project. Everyone pitched in. I can’t see all the races getting behind a rebuilding effort,” Alex said. “There are only about a million higher priorities, like rebuilding crucial infrastructure, returning people to their homeworlds. You know. Minor shit like that.” He scowled at his screen, as strings of numbers scrolled across it.

“So what do we do now?” Talitha glanced at Val.

Val took a breath and squared her shoulders. “The Leviathan are up to something, and I’d like to know what. They have to have some kind of endgame beyond what we see here.” Maybe if she said it often enough, she’d get back her confidence and will to keep fighting.

“Oh, okay,” Talitha said, accepting Val’s half-baked goal as if it was a sensible one. “So you’re looking up the scans on the artifact?” she said to Alex.

“Mm-hm.” He didn’t look up.

“Maybe John Shepard would know something?” Talitha suggested.

Val said, “Last time I checked, he was in a coma and not likely to recover.”

Talitha looked uncomfortable at that, fidgeting with a frayed cuff on her sleeve. “Well. Looks like the orb here is our best lead, then.”

“EDI found a way to track its signal before, but only while it was active,” Val pointed out.

“Yeah, I’ve got the recording from when it activated before,” Alex said. “I can try to work with that. Let’s see what else we can find out before attempting anything like that again.”

“Talitha — did anything weird happen when we were gone?” Val asked. They didn’t have any explanation for the changed site of the camp, but if anything had happened here, Talitha ought to know.

“With the orb? No. It just sat there.”

“No, I mean...” This question was going to sound bizarre, no way around it. “Did the camp move?”

Alex looked up sharply at this, all his attention focused on Talitha’s answer.

Talitha looked baffled. “No?”

“You’re sure?” Val pressed.

“I think I would have noticed,” she said, crossing her arms.

“When did Misha get here?” Alex asked.

“Like... a couple days before you left?” Talitha glanced from one of them to the other. “Are you guys okay?”

“Fine,” Alex said, meeting Val’s eyes and doing something complicated with his eyebrows. Whatever he was trying to get across, Val wasn’t getting it at all.

Whatever had happened, it was normal to everyone else. They were the ones who were different: the three of them who went to Luna and talked to the Reaper.

And Alex, for whatever reason, didn’t seem inclined to disclose this piece of weirdness yet. Having apparently attempted to communicate via significant look, he said, “Can you show me what you’ve been doing while we were gone, then?”

“Sure.” Talitha shrugged. “It’s all pretty routine, though.”

Val hesitated as Talitha joined Alex at the workstation. “You probably don’t need me for this, do you?”

“No, but if we need something punched, I’ll let you know,” Alex said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Val scowled at him, even though he wasn’t looking. “Fine. I’ll head out then. I’ll see if I can catch up with James or Samantha.” It was too early in the afternoon for the promised dinner with Misha and Mama, which was good since the idea made her stomach churn with nerves.

“James is probably down at the bar,” Talitha said absent-mindedly, peering over Alex’s shoulder. “Or training, maybe, but that’s usually a morning thing.”

“Assuming it hasn’t moved,” Alex muttered.

“The Alliance hasn’t tried to shut it down or anything, if that’s what you mean,” Talitha said.

Val sighed, but decided to follow Alex’s lead this time. “So, humor me, Talitha. How do I get to the bar for a drink?”

“It’s between here and the turian camp,” Talitha said, still puzzled, and gave directions.

As before, Val had to wind her way to the outskirts of camp and then head off across the countryside. The landscape, at least, hadn’t changed. Flat, grassy ground, open skies, hills in the distance. The trail between the two camps was well worn, dug deep by groundcar tracks and feet, lending weight and truth to the claims that the camp had always been in its current location.

Normally the rhythm of running was soothing, the pounding of her feet on the ground settled her and cleared her head. Today she couldn’t shake a sense of unease that kept her shoulders tight and her stride jerky. She was sick of feeling off-balance, of struggling between trusting her senses and trusting her memories. They had to be missing something, but she didn’t know _what_. Alex and Garrus remembered, at least, and everyone seemed to remember _them_ , which was something, but there were too many missing pieces to this puzzle.

_Why didn_ _’t it work_? Talitha’s question echoed inside her head. It felt like Val was trapped inside a house of mirrors, never seeing the whole picture.

Damn, she was sick of being jerked around. By the Alliance, by Cerberus, by monsters whose goals she didn’t understand, she was fed up with all of it.

The square, gray prefab shack, rising along the road ahead of her, looked familiar enough. It had to be the place. Val slowed, trying to corral her frustrated thoughts. She took a moment to catch her breath and stretch out before stepping in.

Inside, everything appeared slightly out of place, like someone had rearranged all the tables in her few days’ absence. Val blinked, trying to resolve the room into its familiar contours. The table she and James and Garrus usually grabbed ought to be over there, but instead there were two smaller tables and an oversized chair. Scanning the room, she spotted James’s bulky frame at a booth near the bar — with Steve Cortez, which gave her an unexpected jolt of delight. She hadn’t seen Steve since London, hadn’t known where he was now. Knowing he was safe, at least for the moment, was a welcome relief.

She ordered her drink first, relieved to find that her usual drink was still her usual, and headed over to join the two men.

Steve nudged James with his elbow as she approached, making James glance up at her. His eyebrows lowered and his mouth set into a firm line. “Well, look who it is,” he said, giving her a heavy look from under his brows. “Commander.”

Val paused a step, coming to alert. Unusual for James not to go with something more casual. “Vega,” she said, cautiously. “How’s it going?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You know. Not much happening round these parts. You know Esteban?”

“Steve Cortez,” he introduced himself, extending a hand.

Val leaned over to shake it. “Val Shepard.”

“No relation,” James added.

“Oh, I know,” Steve said — to Val, not James. “Mr. Vega here’s mentioned you.”

“That sounds ominous,” Val said, with another glance at James, trying to gauge his mood. Pissed off, from the look of it. It wasn’t hard to guess why.

Steve chuckled. “Not my problem, and if you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.” He got up smoothly and headed back to the bar.

Val considered and then slid into the empty space in the booth, next to James. He never did like it when you beat around the bush, so: “Do we have a problem, Vega?”

He took a drink, settling back. “You tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong from where I’m standing.” She sipped her drink, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

James grunted, frowning at his glass.

“Come on, out with it,” Val said, barely restraining herself from kicking his ankle under the table. This was an impressive degree of sulking; better to get it all out now.

James shot her a dark glance, and said sullenly, “You _said_ I was on your team next time. First on your list, you said.”

That was, in fact, exactly what she’d said. Val sighed. She’d known James wouldn’t like being left behind, but between their cover story and the size of their ship, there hadn’t seemed to be a good option to bring him in. “Not my call,” she said, striking a regretful tone. “The turians authorized the mission, with Vakarian in charge. He requested Alex and me, and had trouble getting Coats to agree to that much.” She wasn’t even stretching the truth that much.

James squinted at her. “So you’re saying I should take this up with Scars?”

“If you want,” she said, mentally apologizing to Garrus. He and James were friendly; he could handle a little of James’s annoyance. With a wry smile, she added, “That shuttle was pretty tight quarters anyway.”

“Hell, that don’t bother me,” James said, but he relaxed, slouching a bit, so Val judged she was past the worst of his ire. “You find anything good?”

“Could I tell you if I did?” she asked, taking a drink.

“Come on, you can trust me,” he said, grinning. Good; they were okay, then, though it would be a good idea to include him the next time there was a field op.

Val shrugged, trying to decide what was fit for a semi-public conversation. “Facility was abandoned. Pretty creepy, honestly.” She shivered, her spine itching at the memory. “Didn’t look like they’d accomplished much. Kind of a bust, really.”

“Cerberus, man.” James shook his head. “Pack of crazy, shitty assholes.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

“What are we talking about?” Steve asked, returning to the table.

“Cerberus,” James replied.

“Ugh, those guys.”

“’Assholes’ was our general sentiment,” Val said.

Steve held out his glass, and Val clicked hers against it, grinning.

“Here’s hoping we’ve seen the last of ‘em,” James said, adding his own glass to the toast.

Val drank to that, even though she wasn’t confident that Cerberus was totally gone. Miranda was up to something, and she could be a formidable opponent — or ally. Hell, if Miranda was aiming to reorganize or revive Cerberus somehow, that made Val more nervous than the idea of the Illusive Man in charge. Though for all she knew, he might be out there somewhere, too. Either way, at this point, Val couldn’t be sure what Miranda’s motives were, and that put her on edge.

But there wasn’t any point in dwelling on it now, so she asked Steve, “Now, what exactly was it James said about me?”

Steve laughed. “Well, when he wasn’t griping about being left out of whatever your mission was...”

“Almost as crazy as the commander. Other commander, whatever. That’s what I said,” James said firmly.

“Almost?” Val asked, amused.

The ensuing conversation felt like sinking into the most comfortable beat-up armchair. Steve and James bantered just the way they always had, constantly ribbing each other and cheerfully including her in the conversation. Steve’s easygoing, steady temperament had always tended to draw people in. Val only had to be a little careful: she asked getting-to-know-you type questions about flying, his service on the _Normandy_ , and his friendship with James instead of taking all that knowledge for granted. When he asked about her own record, she stayed vague, throwing in details from her on-paper record and parts of her career that still fit. Nobody expected anyone to get too deep into the gritty details of their assignments and war stories, anyway.

James was in the middle of telling some implausible story about his alleged exploits on Omega when someone nudged Val’s shoulder. She looked up, startling to find Misha smiling cheerfully down at her. “Hey, okay if I interrupt?”

“Hey,” she said, accepting the hug he leaned over to give her. Returned it with a firm hug of her own — hopefully not too tight. “Right, dinner, am I late?”

“No, we’ve still got some time. Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” He took the free chair between her and Steve as she made introductions: “James Vega, Steve Cortez, my brother Misha.”

“Officially Mikhail, but Misha’s better,” he said, shaking hands with the other men.

“I think I’ve seen you around,” Steve said.

“Probably. I was just militia, so right now I’m waiting for the next flight home.”

“Weren’t you the one talking to the mess officer about getting in some fresh produce?”

Misha laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was me. I know supply’s a problem, but come on, we have a whole planet here. We know how to make things grow on Terra Nova. Mostly, anyway.”

“Sounds good to me,” James said. “I’d go a long way to eat something besides basic rations.”

“If people are going to be camped out here for a while yet, growing some fruit and vegetables could help with supply and morale,” Misha said, eyes brightening as he spoke. Then he sighed. “Probably just a pipe dream, though. Growing food on any kind of scale might not be practical.”

“Still might be a morale-booster, and give more people something to do,” Val said. “Don’t give up the idea yet.” She gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder, which felt both natural and weird at the same time. As a kid, she never would have hesitated to hug her brothers, especially Misha, who’d always been the most prone to cuddling. As an adult, she didn’t know if the gesture belonged to the tall man sitting next to her.

Misha smiled without seeming disturbed, though. “Chances are I’ll get the thing started just in time to leave.”

“It’s a good idea, though,” Steve said. “If you need to scout out a location, let me know. I’ve got shuttle access.”

“Thanks,” Misha said, looking pleased and surprised. Val paused, looking closely at Steve for a minute, trying to figure out whether he was just being nice, or making a move on her little brother.

Who was probably perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And Steve was a good guy, absolutely. But. Misha was still her _little brother_.

She fell quiet and watched the two of them for the next few minutes, alert for any signs of flirtation. They kept talking, Misha asking questions about Steve’s flight experience, James throwing in some jokes and banter, but nothing seemed unusually intimate. Just the normal conversation of people meeting for the first time. She was being ridiculous, she concluded, embarrassed at her sudden surge of protective sisterly instincts, and dropped her gaze to the table.

In her peripheral vision, Steve froze, mid-sentence, and then shouted, “Down!”

Everything happened at once. Steve threw himself to the side, taking Misha to the floor with him. Val twisted in place, turning around to see what Steve had been looking at. James shoved the table aside, table and glasses crashing to the floor, and started clambering over the wall of the booth.

She heard the sharp report of a gunshot. _Pistol_ , the analytical part of her brain said, even as a burning sting lanced her upper arm. _Predator, probably_. Whipping around, off-balance, she tilted sideways on the edge of her seat, catching a glimpse of a blond human near the door before James charged toward it, blocking her sight.

Other people rushed toward the door, shouting. Somewhere in the room, a couple of people screamed.

Val overbalanced and slid to the floor, landing painfully on a still-intact shot glass. She rolled and bumped into the overturned table before scrambling to her feet, crouching in a defensive position. She raised her hands, corona flaring — pain burst through her left arm, and it wouldn’t move properly.

Another gunshot. Someone screamed. A knot of people struggled at the doorway now, making it impossible to spot the person she’d seen a moment ago. She thought she saw Alex in the crowd, and started forward, fear tightening her chest. Not her brothers, whatever was happening, she didn’t want them hurt.

As the cluster of people shifted, Val caught a glimpse at the gun wielder, struggling and twisting as at least three people grabbed at her — a woman, pistol in her left hand, fighting to get her arm out of someone’s grip. Her eyes, wide and furious, locked with Val’s for a fraction of a second.

Val gathered the dark energy collecting around her and pushed it forward, straining to keep focus on the resulting barrier. James moved, obscuring her view; there was a strangled cry, and one more shot fired.

Everything seemed to stop. “Shit,” James said, loud in the sudden quiet. The crowded knot at the doorway loosened, people stepping back to reveal the blond woman lying on the ground, blood leaking from a hole above her ear. Val let the barrier drop and stared, numbly, her body buzzing with wasted adrenalin. The dead woman looked middle-aged, her slack face vaguely familiar. Two men Val didn’t know were bending to examine the fallen woman, one of them activating an omni-tool. “Shit. The hell was that.” James wheeled around. “What the — Lola, you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, straightening and glancing around to see if Misha and Steve were okay. They were both picking themselves off the ground, looking shaken but uninjured. “Misha, are you all right?”

“Never mind me, you’re bleeding!” he said.

“What?” She looked down, only then registering the blood trickling down her arm. “Oh. Shit.” She clamped her other hand over the wound, wishing for a medi-gel dispenser. “Probably just a graze.”

“You sure about that?” James came looming up behind her. “Someone else making a move on you?”

“Someone else?” Misha exclaimed. “Someone tried to kill you before?”

Too many times; she couldn’t even say she was surprised. “It’s not that big a deal,” she lied, starting to feel light-headed.

James snorted, yanking out a handkerchief to tie around her arm. “Yeah, nice try. Man, you attract trouble, Lola.”

Wait, what? She squinted up at James as the name he’d used sank in. “What did you call me?”

“Finally figured out your nickname,” he said, eyes focused on the knot he was tying.

“Val, what the hell was that?” Alex emerged out of the milling crowd, frowning and pale. “Was she aiming at you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, although she suspected Alex’s guess was right, and she was the intended target. If that was supposed to be a murder attempt, it was an amateurish one. “Could have just been lucky.”

“Or unlucky,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I came in right behind her, but I didn’t suspect anything until she pulled the gun.”

“It’s all right,” she told him, although she was starting to sway on her feet, and her head swam.

“Come on, Commander, sit the hell down.” James pushed her back toward the seat, Alex and Misha following her like shadows. Steve was calling out for a medic.

“I was distracted, I guess,” Alex muttered, as James stepped away to use his comm. “I think I figured it out, though.”

“Figured what out?” Val asked. Misha was propping her injured arm up, above the shoulder — right, elevate the wound — but she focused on Alex, trying to track what he was saying over the roaring in her ears.

“Why things are —” He made a complicated circling motion with his hands. “I think they’re still changing things. Altering reality.”

“What?” Val stared at him. For a second she could have sworn time stopped, her swirling awareness concentrated on Alex’s distracted eyes and downturned mouth.

Then Misha said, exasperated, “What are you two _talking_ about?” and a burly woman in Alliance medic gear was taking her pulse and asking her briskly to focus, and there was no chance to ask anything more.


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, yeah, sorry for the long posting delay. I got much less done this summer than I'd hoped. But I'm back and still working on this. Thanks for sticking with me!

The whole time the medic was cleaning up her arm, Val fidgeted with barely contained impatience. By then the shocky, lightheaded feeling had passed. Her arm was going to be fine; she wanted, above all, to grab Alex and find out what the hell he was talking about.

But first the medic insisted she go to the camp’s clinic for a more thorough checkup, and then, just when she thought she was about to be free, a pair of MPs showed up to ask a hundred questions about what she’d seen. She answered as truthfully as she could. It wasn’t a lie to say she didn’t recognize the dead woman — looking vaguely familiar wasn’t enough to mean anything. She hadn’t even seen much of the struggle, so she couldn’t help them much.

When the MPs finally finished taking notes and departed, Val slid off the exam table with only a slight wince, planning to track down Alex wherever he might be.

Then her mother burst into the room.

“They told me you were hurt!”

“It’s all right, Mama,” Val said, submitting awkwardly as her mother enveloped her in a hug. “It’s just a graze.” The wound stung under its dressings, but with a little help from her cybernetics, it should be healed up within a couple of days.

Misha and Alex trailed in after Mama, to Val’s relief. Alex was frowning in thought, hands shoved in his pockets. Misha looked fine, and smiled when he caught her eye.

“Still!” Mama looked her up and down, keeping a grip on Val’s good arm. “The war is over and now this. They said there was a shooter? Some poor crazy woman.”

“The MPs didn’t seem to know much,” Val said, leaning back against the table.

“She just burst into the bar,” Misha volunteered. “I don’t know what she was planning, everything happened so fast.”

In a bar full of off-duty military personnel, the woman with the gun hadn’t had much of a chance. Another Leviathan thrall? Val wondered, the back of her neck prickling. The Leviathan probably didn’t care about the welfare of their minions, but she would have thought they’d have a more effective plan.

“Guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she said out loud.

Mama sniffed. “You should be more careful.”

Val hesitated, at a loss how to respond to that. “Okay, Mama,” she said finally.

“It was just an accident,” Misha put in, with a sidelong glance at Alex. “Val couldn’t have prevented it.”

“No one else got hurt,” Mama grumbled, letting go of Val and turning to her sons. “You boys are all right, yes?” She looked them up and down, hands planted on her hips.

“Yes, Mama,” Misha said, rolling his eyes with a smile. “We’re fine. Right, Alex?” He reached out and nudged Alex’s shoulder.

Alex shook himself out of his reverie. “Right. Fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Hmph. You look all right, I suppose,” Mama allowed. “You...” She stopped as Garrus appeared in the doorway, looming.

Val swallowed, as her heart rate ticked up a notch. Garrus’s expression was politely neutral, almost stiff, but she thought there was a stark concern in his eyes that gave her a shock of guilt. Everything had happened in such a rush, she hadn’t thought to call Garrus. Of course he’d want to know what had happened. Had Alex called him? She glanced at her brother, but he still looked distracted, edging toward the wall and frowning at the floor.

She opened her mouth to invite Garrus in, but Mama spoke first. “Yes? Do you need something? Are you a detective? They were just here and gone.”

Garrus’s mandibles twitched. “Not currently, ma’am. Garrus Vakarian, I work with your daughter.”

Hell. Val had never spared the time to imagine how Garrus and her mother might have met. Even if she had, she certainly never would have imagined it anything like this.

“We told you about him, remember?” Misha said.

“Well, you can’t take her for a mission now,” Mama exclaimed, her voice rising.

Val sighed and touched her mother’s shoulder. “Mama.”

Her head snapped toward Val. “What?”

“I’m starving,” she said, and realized it was true, her stomach rumbling as soon as she said it. “I think I missed dinner. Could you and Misha maybe find me something to eat?”

Mama blinked. Her expression softened. “Of course,” she said, suddenly solicitous. “You have to eat. Misha, come, we’ll find something for all of us.”

Misha looked around the room, his brow creasing. “Sure,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Do you think we can ask at the mess hall, or...”

“I know just who to ask,” Mama said. She swept out, a woman on a mission. Garrus hastily sidestepped to let her pass. She ignored him as she passed, but Misha gave them all one last probing look before following her.

“Shut the door,” Val said, even as Garrus was already closing it.

“Shepard—” he said, starting toward her, his tight expression relaxing.

Val shook her head. “We don’t have a lot of time. Alex, what did you mean, you’ve figured it out?” 

“I mean what I said. They’re still doing it.” Alex started pacing restlessly around the room in jerky strides, scowling into the distance. “The Leviathan are still altering reality. They have to be.”

“How do you figure that?” Garrus asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice was heavy with skepticism.

Val asked, “How? You said that would take tremendous amounts of energy.”

“It would have to. They must have a source of energy. I don’t know what.” Alex shrugged, throwing his hands out. “But it seems like the best explanation for what we’ve seen.”

“The camp,” Val said, understanding. The camp’s changed location, and Misha’s presence. “But why would they want to move it? What does that have to do with anything?” Or was it somehow about her family, after all? That thought made her feel cold

“I don’t _know_. But reality’s changed again, or we’re all losing it. Maybe...” Alex stopped abruptly, staring into space before whirling toward her. “Maybe it’s a ripple effect. They change one thing the way they want it, and other things change in ways they didn’t anticipate. Unintended consequences.”

Val exhaled slowly as she took that in, exchanging glances with Garrus. She was no scientist, but she’d seen plenty of unintended consequences in her career. Decisions that seemed like a good idea at the time, only to blow back in your face later on. Solve one problem, create five more. It sounded hideously plausible. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s say you’re right. So they’re trying to accomplish something, they accidentally rearrange geography a little. And whatever the Reaper did to us meant that the Leviathan’s changes didn’t affect us, for some reason.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Alex stared back at her, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t understand that part, either.”

Val snorted. “When things get this weird, no one understands all of it.” She’d spent ages trying to warn the galaxy about Reapers, even though she barely understood how the Reapers did what they did. She didn’t have to know how the Reapers accomplished their goals to understand that they were a threat to galactic life and civilization. The same was true for the Leviathan. Thinking it through, she said slowly, “But then... if they’re still changing reality, there’s a way to stop them. They’re using something to make this happen. Some... device or artifact, maybe a facility. We just have to find it. Then we can stop them.”

Alex’s eyebrows went up. “Just like that? We don’t know what it is or how it works. Or if such a thing even exists.”

“You said they have to have a large energy source,” Val said. “So we find that.”

“I... okay, but then what do we do with it?”

“We’ll have to figure that part out as we go,” Val said. Her mind was already scrambling to work through the logistics involved. This... this felt like something she could do. Not an intractable problem of physics or metaphysics or any kind of science she couldn’t get her head around. This was a _mission_. Find whatever the Leviathan were using and deal with it. She could do that.

She’d found the Leviathan in the first place, hadn’t she? And tracked down Ilos. This might even be easier than either of those.

Garrus chuckled. “Here we go,” he said to Alex, who still looked bewildered.

Val smiled faintly. “So if they’re using a tremendous amount of energy to alter reality,” she said out loud, giving shape to her racing thoughts, “the energy discharge would have to be measurable somehow, right?”

Alex blinked. His mouth pulled down. “Right. If we can get enough data.”

“We’ll find it,” she said firmly. “And we have the artifact. If we can trace its signal, we can get a location.”

Alex blanched. “I don’t like the idea of activating it again.”

“Neither do I,” Garrus put in.

Call in Plan B. “Let’s see if we can come up with any data first, then.”

“If we get a location, we’re going to need a ship,” Garrus said.

Val shook her head. “We’re going to need the _Normandy_.” She glanced up at Garrus. “Where is she?”

“In for repairs at Alliance docks, I think.” His mandibles flexed. “Unless they’ve already assigned a new captain. They’re not going to leave an asset like that in dry dock forever.”

Val nodded, thinking. If she could just find a way to get them to assign the ship to her... It was bad form, of course, to openly angle for command of the pride of the Alliance navy. She’d have to figure out a way around that.

“I hope you’re not being overcome by sentiment here,” Alex said.

“I’m not. We need the ship, but we also need EDI. We need her first, in fact. Do you really think you have the processing power in your lab to trace that signal?”

Alex’s lips parted and he paused, eyes going distant as his eyebrows gradually pulled together. “No,” he said finally.

“What are you going to tell EDI?” Garrus asked.

Val shrugged. “She’s good at threat assessment. I think I can persuade her that the Leviathan threat matters, if nothing else. But I need access first.” She frowned as something occurred to her. “Does she still have access to her mobile platform?”

Garrus shook his head. “I haven’t seen her around. I’m not sure your Alliance is keen on a mobile infiltration bot moving freely around its camp.”

Val’s first impulse was to argue that EDI didn’t pose any security risk, but she swallowed it down. She couldn’t be sure that EDI was completely trustworthy in this universe. She grimaced, considering that they needed EDI regardless.

“EDI has a mobile infiltration bot?” Alex said.

“Yes,” Garrus said. “But look, are we not going to talk about the fact that someone shot you?”

Val shifted, reminded of the ache in her arm. “It’s only a graze.”

“This time.” Garrus’s mandibles pulled in.

“It was barely even a competent attack,” Val said. “Bursting into a public place like that, especially one filled with off-duty marines?”

“And how long until a competent assassin shows up?” Garrus demanded, his gaze turning sharp. “I said it before, you’re not safe here. The Leviathan will keep sending people after you. Or Liara will. She’ll have the resources.”

“Do you know anything about where Liara is?” Val asked, hoping that he’d gained some useful intel while he was in the turian camp.

“Nothing concrete, but I don’t like what we’re hearing from the asari. At this point, I’d be stunned if she didn’t have her hands in it somehow. But —”

Val interrupted. “What about the asari?”

Garrus’s mandibles flared. He sighed. “The short version is, there’s some kind of political upheaval going on among the asari republics. Some matriarchs in key leadership positions have been replaced, but there hasn’t been a formal election. Other matriarchs are simply absent. Hierarchy Intelligence is a little edgy about the whole thing.”

“You’re talking about a coup,” Alex said.

“Maybe. But we don’t know who’s behind it, or what their goals are.”

“I think we can guess,” Val said. Liara’s sudden departure now felt even more ominous. If the asari government was in turmoil, she had a hard time believing that had nothing to do with the Leviathan.

“We could, but there’s not much we can do it about it now.” Garrus fixed her with a hard look. “Nice deflection, by the way.”

“I wasn’t deflecting,” Val said.

Alex snorted. Garrus said, voice rising, “If they’ve tried twice, they’ll keep trying.”

She lifted her chin, regarding him levelly. “I can handle it.”

His mandibles twitched. “I’m not denying that, but other people are going to get hurt.”

Val bit the inside of her cheek. He wasn’t wrong, but the sense that he was trying to protect her chafed. She couldn’t exactly hide in a bunker, and she couldn’t predict how the Leviathan would try to get at her next. Lying low had never been her style. “And how do you propose to prevent that?” she asked, her words coming out clipped.

Brought up short, Garrus fell silent. His mandibles flexed.

“I hate to interrupt,” Alex said, glancing at the door, “but Mama and Misha will be back any minute.”

“At least consider wearing armor,” Garrus said tightly.

Val nodded. She had no intention of walking around the camp in a full combat hardsuit, but saying so would only prolong the argument.

Mama swept back into the room moments later, Misha trailing behind, loaded down with packages of food. There wasn’t any more chance to talk things over, and Val’s stomach, at least, was grateful for their appearance.

Mama had, conspicuously, not brought any dextro food with her. Garrus stood awkwardly for a few seconds before excusing himself, giving Val one last sharp look before leaving the room.

He was going to have more to say later, Val was certain of it. Privately, most likely, and that idea made her skin tingle with anticipation. 

#

Val Shepard had planned plenty of missions before. For maybe the first time since she’d woken up in her hospital bed, she knew her course and purpose.

She had an objective: Find out what the Leviathan were doing, and stop them. To do that, she’d need a ship, EDI, and the location of the Leviathan’s base. And probably a larger team; Alex and Talitha and probably Samantha made a good tech team, between them, but there was no way she was putting any of them into a combat situation if she didn’t have to. She’d rather go into the field with only Garrus by her side, if it came to that.

It crossed her mind that she might be presuming a little, on that score: Garrus had his own responsibilities to the Hierarchy, after all. But he’d said they’d finish this together, so she’d take that as a promise.

Ship, EDI, location, team: none of these things were easy, but all of them were achievable. It felt like her brain had finally fully awakened, no longer mired in uncertainty about her sanity or identity, ready to move forward.

However, she’d never tried to plan a mission with her mother hovering over her.

Mama, showing up at her door first thing in the morning to ask how she was doing and escort her to breakfast. Urging her to eat more even when she’d filled her plate. Talking about how she could take time off if Val needed any help...

Only an hour of this, and already Val felt like she might explode.

“Mama, I’m fine. It’s just a minor wound. I’ve had worse.”

Her mother’s face crumpled, leaving Val cringing in guilt. Mama sniffed and dabbed at her face with her napkin. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there before.”

Val cast a desperate look across the table at Misha, who shrugged and smiled, totally unhelpfully. “Mama, it’s not... I’m not upset about that. I’m really fine, that’s all.” She tried to layer extra reassurance into her voice, as if she were talking to a shaky recruit.

“I know, I know, you’re all grown up and don’t need me hovering. Just humor your mother, yes?” She reached out and patted Val’s arm, sniffing into her napkin.

Val bit the inside of her cheek. Misha smirked at her. Alex and Talitha had both dodged out earlier with coffee, leaving Val without allies.

Her omni-tool pinged, giving her an excuse to extract her arm from Mama’s grip.

_Hope you_ _’re doing okay. Can we meet later? Seems like we have a lot to talk about. —G_

She exhaled, her free hand tightening into a fist. Not him too. 

“What’s that?” Mama asked, catching Val frowning at her omni-tool.

She started, closing the message. “Just a note from a contact.” The half-truth made her tense, but there was no easy way to explain her relationship with Garrus to her mother.

They hadn’t even sorted everything out between them, she thought, and with that, her irritation melted into chagrin. Of course Garrus was concerned about her. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was right, they needed to talk.

She didn’t have a chance for much of a reply with Mama beside her and Misha looking curiously at her over the table, either. 

Mama said, “Aren’t you on medical leave?”

“Only for a day or two, Mama.”  She caught a glimpse of James Vega’s familiar bulky figure passing the mess hall, reminding her of another mystery she needed to sort out. Val seized the opportunity. “Excuse me just a minute, I need to check on something.”  Without waiting for a reply, she sprang out of her seat and headed toward the exit. 

Val had to stretch her legs to catch up with James, whose height and size let him pass by other people easily. She called out, “Hey! Vega!” as she got closer, hoping he wasn’t heading to HQ, or anywhere else he might have a fixed appointment.

He swung around when he heard her voice, though, and slowed. “Hey there, Lola. What’s up?”

_Lola_ again. It wasn’t a fluke. Val’s nerves tingled. Hearing that nickname made her feel off-balance, like she had one foot in the past that had been, the other in the now-that-was. She tried not to show it, falling into step with him and keeping her tone light. “Same old, same old. Just wanted to thank you, about what happened last night.”

He shrugged. “Aw, didn’t do nothin’, really.”

“Still. Could have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Me and like twenty other marines, that chick wasn’t getting nowhere.” James shook his head. “That’s it? You came charging out of there like a woman with a purpose.”

“Did I?” She was maybe being a little too eager. Val chuckled faintly. “Just family stuff.”

James chuckled. “Family stuff? I’m not touching that.”

“Not asking you to.”

“Just don’t forget, though. You get somethin’ interesting going on, you call me.”

“I promise, you’ll know when I’ve got something,” she said. She did need a combat team, after all. 

If she ended up having to steal the _Normandy_ , though... maybe that would be too much to ask. She’d cut ties with the Alliance if she had to, but she didn’t have to take Vega’s career down, too.

“That’s what I like to hear,” James said, not noticing her hesitation. He nodded firmly, barely holding back a smile.

Val put her worries to one side. She’d make that call if it came to it. “I have to ask, though — why Lola?” Her shoulders tensed as she waited for the answer.

James frowned. “Didn’t we talk about this already?”

“Did we?” Val honestly couldn’t remember, but maybe she’d forgotten something. Or maybe, like Alex had said, reality had twisted around, so he remembered a conversation she didn’t, or something.

But James said, “Yeah, we talked about it a while ago, down...” and then hesitated, frowning, his eyes going distant.

“James?” Val asked, coming to alert. “Everything okay?”

“Didn’t we... I coulda sworn we talked about this, Shepard. Down in the cargo bay, when...” He shook his head, still frowning.

Val missed a step, as the shock of that sank in like cold water. He shouldn’t have remembered that. _She_ remembered their talk in the cargo bay, and their “dance,” but he shouldn’t have. She hadn’t been on the _Normandy_. Not as far as he knew.

James laughed a little and shook his head. “That’s weird. Like I just mixed you up with the commander. Funny, huh?”

“Funny,” Val echoed. She watched him closely, as if she were entering a combat zone and scanning for enemy movement. “Right. Humor me, James. Tell me about Lola.”

“Not too much to tell. My best friend’s older sister. Tough. Hot.” He squinted at her. “You sure we didn’t have this conversation before?”

She narrowed her eyes, intent on his face. “Do you remember having this conversation before?”

“Sorta.” He frowned and scratched his head. “Like I said, seems like we talked about it on the _Normandy_ , but that can’t be right, huh? Feels like something that happened in a dream. You don’t remember?”

“Mm, I forget a lot of stuff,” Val said. She didn’t understand what was going on, but if he remembered something, anything, from that other life, she needed to know. She cast about for something else that might be unique to that relationship, her stomach tightening with anticipation. “Hey, do you play cards, Vega?”

“Like what, Skyllian Five? Sure.”

She’d have to push a little further. “I meant more like—”

James threw her a wary sidelong look. “You’re not trying to get me to play one of those crappy old card games of yours, are you? ”

She stared at him, stunned. Back in Vancouver, when she’d been under lockup and James had been her most frequent guard, she’d roped him into playing cribbage and all sorts of other stuff. Out of sheer boredom, on her part, and James had humored her in spite of complaining about it.

He shouldn’t be remembering any of that. If he was... she didn’t know what that meant.

James frowned and blinked, his eyes going unfocused for a moment. Val put on a smile. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you. We can play something more your speed. I mean, I gotta give you a fighting chance to win.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” James smirked at her. “Doesn’t matter how old and crap the game is, James Vega can handle it.”

Val laughed and kept walking, closing her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Her heart was pounding, all her alertness kindling into excitement. She didn’t know what to make of this, though. James remembered things he wasn’t supposed to remember. Unlike Garrus and Alex, he hadn’t been on the moon with her. Whatever the Reaper had done couldn’t have affected him all the way out here, could it?

But he was remembering anyway. Somehow.


	24. Chapter 23

It hadn’t really occurred to Garrus before how difficult it was to get genuine privacy on Terra Nova. Not until today, when he needed to talk to Shepard without the risk of being overheard.

Both the Alliance and the turian camps were too packed with people. With everyone bunking and eating practically on top of each other, you could never be sure of having a quiet word with someone, alone and unobserved. Unless, like he was now, you arranged to meet with someone along the road between the two camps, halfway to the unlicensed bar plopped down between them. Even this wasn’t a perfect solution, given the amount of foot traffic to and from the bar. But it was fairly safe at mid-day, and they had a good enough vantage to stop talking about anything sensitive if someone approached.

A sniper out in the hills would also have a good vantage on them. His scales itched. He hadn’t picked up any suspicious infrared or motion on his visor, though. That kind of attack seemed more sophisticated than the Leviathan’s minions were up for. He hoped.

He missed Shepard’s private quarters on the _Normandy_. EDI could be discreet, and at least there he could be sure they were safe.

Remembering those times felt like walking back into the battery after scouring the whole ship for a missing tool, and finding the tool lying on his workbench where it belonged. Only a few months back, he and Shepard had met at a rock that looked much like the one he sat on now. They’d talked, watching Reapers pacing in the distance, the hesitant conversation of new acquaintances.

They’d met and talked here. Or they’d met on the Citadel, at Dr. Michel’s clinic. He could remember both at once: the curiosity about a stranger he’d glimpsed in a hospital, and the eagerness to meet the Commander Shepard he’d been hearing so much about. The juxtaposition made his head hurt.

He heard footsteps, jogging up the path. Turning, he saw Shepard coming. His pulse quickened at the sight of her, even as his back relaxed and he let out a breath. He’d half-expected something to happen to her every moment she was out of sight.

She brightened when she saw him, and waved as she crested the hill, then slowed to a stop in front of him, stretching out her calves. 

“Hey, Shepard,” he said, vibrating with relief. He looked her up and down, but didn’t spot any unexpected signs of injury or fatigue.

Shepard noticed his gaze. Her mouth pulled sideways. “I’m okay, Garrus. You know me, I heal fast.”

Garrus sighed. Yeah, he knew that. One benefit to thank Cerberus for, he supposed. There was no need, or logic, to the protective anxiety that tightened his throat.

It was just that he remembered her charging away that night in London, vanishing into the glare of the Reapers’ beam as the _Normandy_ ’s hatch closed. Guess he hadn’t quite gotten over that yet.

“I know,” he said. “I just don’t like you getting shot.”

She snorted. “I don’t love it, either, but —”

“But that’s not the thing that worries me.” He needed to get this out before she started talking. Once she did, she could be way too persuasive. “I know you can handle yourself, but other people could be in the line of fire. Your brothers, even.”

She closed her mouth and pressed her lips together.

“Anyone could be an assassin.” Maybe she was just playing it cool, but he couldn’t tell if she was taking this seriously, and that set a cold lump in his gullet. “Alliance personnel, civilians, even someone you think you know. Knives and guns haven’t worked out so well for them. Next time it could be a grenade.” It reminded him too much of Omega, where you could find hostiles with black market weapons on every corner.

Shepard’s eyes and mouth were tight, but she nodded. “I get that. What I don’t get is what you want us to do about that.”

The _us_ settled his nerves a fraction, though his impulse to set security around her bunk clearly wasn’t practical. “I want you to be aware.”

“I am. But I can’t walk around camp in combat gear,” she said. “Or with a full-time bodyguard.” She shot him a careful look, her eyes bright beneath their lashes. “You’ve got other things to do.”

Warmth curled in his chest. He tipped her a smile, and got one in return. What lay between them felt... stretched, unsteady. Too many layers of memory and complications. She watched him sideways, as if she wasn’t quite sure of him. He supposed he probably watched her the same way.

They were still a team. They had to be. “I wouldn’t mind playing bodyguard. Just... be careful. It’s not knowing where an attack could come from that bothers me.”

Shepard nodded and stretched, arching her back in a sinuous curve that caught his attention. She said, “I don’t like it, either. We have no idea how many Leviathan artifacts are out there, or how many people each one could affect. On that mining station —” Her eyes widened, going distant as she straightened. “Shit. Oh, hell. I thought that woman looked familiar. That’s where I saw her before, the mining station. _Shit_.” Her hands closed into fists.

Mining station? Garrus sifted back through the muddle of his memories. Right. Full of glazed-eyed humans who didn’t know what year it was. “Where we were looking for... Garneau, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Shepard said, pacing, her body taut. “She was one of the workers there. Shit. They’ve had their hooks in her for a long time.”

Garrus tried to remember the station from his other, altered life. He couldn’t recall much. He’d been busy, fielding communications between the Hierarchy and the Alliance. “Best I remember, Sh- John said the place was a bust. I think Liara went with him.”

“Wonder how long they’ve had their hooks in _her_ ,” Shepard muttered.

Garrus exhaled. “Or him. Didn’t you say one of those artifacts was in his quarters?”

“Yeah.” She shook herself and dropped onto the rock beside him, staring into the distance. “I guess their interests would have aligned, while the war was on. That’s why I tried to recruit them, in spite of how dangerous they are.”

He warred with himself for a moment. He wanted to offer reassurance, to tell her that it was okay, that she couldn’t have known. Was it presumptuous? False reassurance? His instincts for how to treat her felt scrambled. He settled for covering her hand with his, a light touch, easy to break.

Shepard gripped his hand in return. “I wonder where the rest of the people from the station are.”

“We could try to find out.”

“I can ask Traynor to look at it.” She sighed. “Not easy to find anyone, these days. But we really need to find the Leviathan.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Wouldn’t hurt to find Liara, either.”

“We can’t be sure where she’s gone,” Garrus said. “There’s a lot of asari space. She could be anywhere, and she’ll have covered her tracks.” Shoulder to shoulder like this, her hand on his firm and heartening, he could almost believe nothing had ever changed.

“All the more reason we need EDI and the _Normandy_ ,” Shepard said.

“And how do you propose to get it?” Garrus asked, tilting his head.

Shepard shrugged one shoulder. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she glanced sideways. “I thought I’d try asking nicely.”

Garrus laughed out loud. “You’re just going to ask for the best ship in the Alliance? Brazen. That wouldn’t fly in the Hierarchy, that’s for sure.”

Shepard smiled back at him, warm and easy. She squeezed his hand, and his heart pounded. She said, “All right, maybe I won’t ask right out. But if I can persuade the Alliance that the Leviathan threat is serious, we might be able to get her, all open and aboveboard.”

Garrus shook his head, still smiling. As much as he appreciated Shepard’s optimism, he didn’t see much chance of this working. “Worth a try, I suppose. Do you have a backup plan?”

“Welllll...” she drew out the word, eyeing him sidelong. “How do you feel about stealing the _Normandy_?”

Garrus chuckled. “I suppose we did it once, but it was easier when we were already assigned to the ship.”

“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand and released it, putting both hands behind herself so she could lean back, tilting her face toward the sky. “If I can make contact with EDI first, that might help.”

“You’re going to make the ship an accessory to her own theft?”

“Something like that. I want to talk to Traynor, see if she knows how to find EDI. And Steve, he’ll probably know what the situation’s like at the docks.”

“Are you going to read him in?” So far, only a handful of people knew the whole strange story: himself, Shepard, Alex, Talitha. A good team, but Garrus doubted the four of them would be enough to accomplish their goal in the long run. Shepard might be known for doing the impossible, but she did it with a crew beside her.

Shepard’s eyebrows pulled together while she thought that over. She sighed. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to push too hard and burn my credibility. All this shit is hard to believe.” She wrinkled her nose. “Learned that lesson the hard way.”

“Mm. We’ll need a larger team eventually,” Garrus said, watching for her reaction.  


“One thing at a time.” She sighed, frowning. “Actually, there’s another thing.”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated, rolling her shoulders, and turned to face him. “James called me Lola.”

“So?” Garrus said. “He does that.”

She shook her head. “Not since... not in this reality. And it’s not just that.” She shifted in place, her mouth curling. “When I talked to him today, it seems like he’s remembering things from... before. From the way things used to be.”

Garrus started, nerves on edge with this unexpected bit of information. “What? What kind of things?”

“He thought we’d talked about Lola before, on the _Normandy_ , and he remembered the card games he and I used to play in Vancouver.” Shepard watched him with troubled eyes, chewing on her lip.

Garrus shook his head, unable to shake off the cold unease creeping through him. “How is that even possible? There’s too much weird shit going on, Shepard. I don’t know if I like one more thing.”

Shepard exhaled. “I don’t know why, but him remembering this — that doesn’t seem likely to hurt us. Hell, if I want to get him on side, it might help.”

“Maybe,” Garrus said doubtfully. “I don’t know, Shepard, I just don’t think I believe in coincidence any more.”

She leaned against his shoulder, tentatively, as if she were afraid he’d pull away. As if he’d ever. She didn’t seem to mind the bulk of his armor. He stilled, breathing shallow as her weight settled against him. Familiar, welcome, impossible; he’d thought he’d lost her.

He _had_ lost her, reality warping around them to separate her from him and the rest of the crew.

He missed the privacy of her quarters even more now, too aware of their exposed position, and the chill bite of the wind. His hands itched to comb through the warm length of her hair and feel out the shape of her body, seeking out any minuscule changes from one reality to another. He sat still, keenly conscious of the pressure of her arm against his.

“Maybe it’s breaking,” she said softly. “Whatever they did. Maybe it won’t hold.”

Garrus rumbled in his throat. The idea was tempting. For once, problems could sort themselves out without their intervention.

But if that was true, what would happen to people like Alex and the rest of her family, people who’d died in another life? She had to have thought of that. What would happen to people who’d died in this reality?

He remembered Tali’s shriek as the quarian fleets burned above them; remembered seeing her move and grabbing for her arm a second too late, closing on nothing as she flung herself off that cliff. They’d buried her where she fell, leaving her in the dust of her homeworld. Shepard — John — had toasted her later, the skin around his eyes tight.

He also remembered Tali laughing as he broke open a bottle of turian brandy and told her to appreciate the vintage. How she’d promised him to build a distillery on Rannoch one day soon, and he’d told her about the quarian homebrew he’d tried on Omega. _They_ _’d_ toasted, then, to a peace that had seemed impossible a day earlier, and toasted again for Legion. Turians and quarians both understood the value of sacrificing yourself for your people. Maybe more than humans did. Humans always liked to think there was a way out.

Both memories felt equally faded now, the edges dulled, glossed by the sheen of grief or nostalgia. He couldn’t have said which one was more real. That bothered him, a dull ache of wrongness building up at the back of his skull.

“Maybe,” he said.

Shepard must have heard the doubt echoing under his words. She chuckled faintly and then sighed. “Or maybe it’s something else entirely. We’ll figure it out.”

“Mm,” he said, thinking back over their conversation, distracted by her nearness. “What do you need from me?”

“For now, anything you can find out about the asari. Or the _Normandy_.” She sighed again. “And this. This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he said, and dared to put an arm around her.

She sighed, leaning harder into him, and brushed her fingers along his scarred mandible, her touch light and careful. Neither of them quite sure where they stood, maybe. Garrus thought about kissing her again. Once on the shuttle, a couple days earlier, didn’t seem like enough.

Voices sounded from down the hill, as a trio of humans made their way along the path. Garrus tensed, but they only glanced curiously at Shepard and Garrus, side by side on the rock, and continued on their way.

Shepard sighed. “I should find Traynor. And I’m supposed to report to Coats this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Garrus said. It took another moment before he could bring himself to release her. Shepard pulled away just as reluctantly. “Let me know how that goes.”

“Will do.” She stood slowly, stretching her arms over her head. He watched her body curve as she arched from side to side. She turned toward him and hesitated, a tentative smile stretching her mouth, before bending over and kissing his brow. Quickly, as if she had to do it before changing her mind. “You be careful, too.”

“Always,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I seem to remember some exceptions.”

He shrugged. “I’m still alive.”

She started to say something else, and then shook her head. “I should... yeah.”

“Go on,” he said, chuckling. This felt almost normal enough to ease his nerves.

She gave a parting wave, and he watched her run down the path.

#

Deep down, Val wanted nothing more than to stay on that rock holding Garrus’s hand. Sappy, but she’d thought she might never get back what they’d had, so having him within reach, with no one else around, was beyond price. Even more, since everything between them seesawed between familiar and fragile, between the easy comfort of their long partnership and a raw, new feeling that she didn’t know how to navigate. Garrus didn’t seem to know, either.

Better if they could find some real privacy and get back to basics, relearning each other by touch and taste and feel.

Distracting as that vision was, she had other tasks for the day. She was meeting Coats later; supposed to be reporting on their lunar expedition, but the appointment would also be her chance to make her pitch. Before that, she should have just enough time to track down Traynor and ask her about EDI. She should fill Samantha in on what they’d learned, anyway. Duty called; she’d find Garrus again later. Privately, maybe. Ideally, with plenty of time to consider all those distracting ideas.

For now, Val put them firmly in the back of her mind. With the camp reconfigured, though, she had no real idea where to find Samantha at all, so she swung by Alex’s lab to ask Talitha.

“Comm hub, I think. Southwest quadrant.” Talitha frowned briefly, rubbing her temples.

“You okay?” Val asked.

“Yeah. Just a bit of a headache. Weird dreams last night. Disturbing at the time, but I don’t really remember them.” Talitha shook her head and raised her mug of coffee. “Nothing a little caffeine won’t cure.”

“I’m not sure how that’s how it works,” Val said.

Talitha shrugged, smiling. “Close enough.”

“I hope Alex isn’t working you too hard,” Val said, with a glance at the back of the lab. Alex, surrounded by screens and datapads, was so absorbed in whatever he was doing that he didn’t appear to have noticed her entrance.

“Oh, no!” Talitha brightened. “Honestly, this is great. You know, no one in my family’s into science. Not the fun theoretical kind, anyway. If it’s not immediately practical, they don’t care. It’s always been nice, being with your family, where people are interested in stuff that’s more out there. Plus, getting to have more brothers.” She took a drink of coffee, peering at Val over the rim of her mug. “I guess you don’t really remember me hanging around, though, do you?”

“No,” Val said. “Though sometimes I wish I’d had that life.” If she tried, squinting into her faded memories, she thought she remembered a tow-headed girl who played with Val’s littlest brother, but it was so hazy she might be making it up.

“Mm.” Talitha gulped more coffee. “This rearranging reality thing... it’s strange it didn’t take, with you. You’re like a fixed point, or something.” She peered at Val, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Val shrugged, uneasy at the scrutiny. “I wouldn’t know.” She’d given up asking _why me_ a while ago, sometime after the Blitz. Talitha asking the question gave her a prickling sense of dread, that feeling that someone was watching her from behind.

The feeling persisted as she took her leave and headed across the camp. She looked over her shoulder more than once, and found herself watching her periphery for any unexpected movement, any half-familiar face that might turn on her.

Maybe she’d picked up Garrus’s paranoia.

But no one attempted to kill her this time, and she got no more than a few passing nods of recognition before she located the cluster of prefabs that housed the communications team.

She found Samantha Traynor muttering to herself and frowning at her workstation. Val had to call her name twice before Samantha blinked and shook herself out of her work-induced haze.

“Commander! You’re back. How was good old Luna?”

Samantha must not have heard about the shooting. Val was glad the bandage was hidden under sleeve. “Interesting. Enlightening,” she said. She glanced at the screen partitioning Samantha’s workspace from the rest of the prefab. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Oh! Certainly.” Samantha pushed a stack of datapads to the side and rose, heading toward the door. She glanced nervously back at her coworkers, and at Val, as she opened the door.

Outside, Samantha led Val to a sort of alley between two of the prefab buildings, where a couple of trash bins stood. Not true privacy, but good enough for a quick conversation. Samantha smoothed her hands down the fabric of her uniform jacket as she turned to face Val, her forehead creased with worry. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’m hoping so,” Val said quietly. “Do you have any way to communicate with EDI?”

Samantha blinked, startled. “With EDI? Um...” Her eyes darted sideways.

“This isn’t official Alliance business, and I don’t want to get her into any trouble. But we need her help.”

“I wasn’t supposed to,” Samantha said. “But she has to have somebody to talk to, doesn’t she? So I... have a private comm channel set up. I could loop you in, if that would help.” She clasped her hands together, watching Val for her reaction.

“Thank you,” Val said fervently. “That would be a big help.”

“Is that... all?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask.” Watching Samantha’s visible nerves, she added, “Is something wrong?”

Samantha took a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “I was afraid you wanted me to activate that artifact again.”

“No, we’re exploring other ways to get the intel we need.”

Samantha sighed, her whole demeanor relaxing. Val resolved that if anyone had to subject themselves to the Leviathan’s control to get what they needed, it wouldn’t be Samantha.

“I’m happy to help, really,” Samantha said. “Anything I can do. Just not... that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do something that makes you that uncomfortable,” Val said. “If you could help with data analysis, though, that could be very useful.”

“That, I can do,” Samantha said. “No trouble. Just throw it in the pile with everything else.”

“What are you working on?”

“It turns out that rebuilding the entire galactic comm network isn’t so easy.” Samantha sighed, leaning against the wall.

Val nodded. “We have to replace all the comm buoys, don’t we?”

“Yes, which means someone has to build them, which is tricky with so much industrial infrastructure destroyed. And apparently we’re not doing a very good job. Some of the new buoys are being a little... unpredictable.”

“What do you mean?” Val knew the basics of the pre-war galactic comm net, enough to know that rebuilding it had to be a monumental task, but that was about it.

Samantha shrugged. “Messages delayed, sometimes routed improperly, for no reason we can figure out. It’s all a bit of a mess at the moment.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it taken care of,” Val said.

Samantha straightened, smiling a little. “We’ll do what we can. Thanks, Commander. I should get back to work, though.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“I usually chat with EDI in the evening when my shift is up.” Samantha looked at Val earnestly. “I can explain your request tonight and include you, maybe tomorrow? She won’t know you, not like in your universe.”

Right. She’d been so focused on her next step she hadn’t actually briefed Samantha. “Turns out things that’s not quite what’s going on,” Val said.

“Really? Then what is?” Samantha frowned, puzzled.

Val opened her mouth and hesitated. The open air felt too empty. Anyone might be around the corner, listening. “I’ll... Can I fill you in later?”

“Of course. If you think that’s best.”

“Let me know what EDI says.” Val hesitated for a moment. “How’s she doing?”

Samantha sighed. “She took Joker’s death hard.”

“I can imagine,” Val said softly. For all Joker had once griped endlessly about having an AI in his beloved ship, now it seemed impossible to imagine them separate. Joker and EDI and the _Normandy_ all went together, a perfect partnership. Without Joker... could EDI even form the same kind of bond with another pilot?

She had to be so lonely. 

“And she’s out there all alone with only the repair techs to talk to.” Samantha sighed again, spreading her hands. “I’ve filed a complaint, but I’m not sure anyone’s listening.”

“So you’re keeping a channel open,” Val said, understanding. “You’re a good friend, Samantha.”

Samantha flushed. “I try.”

#

Coats stared at Val over the desk, openly skeptical. He pursed his lips, eyebrows snapping together. “This whole artifact hunt sounds like a wild goose chase, Shepard.”

Val took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. She’d already laid out the case as persuasively as she could, trying to build on their inconclusive findings at the lunar base. Once, she would have been able to turn on the charm and ride her reputation to sweep people along with her, even superior officers. She couldn’t rely on that tactic any more. As far as her record showed, she was nothing more than a moderately accomplished officer. And Coats wasn’t like the superiors she was used to dealing with. Anderson had trusted her to the end of the universe, and they’d always been frank with each other. Hackett... well, she’d strained, eventually, under the weight of Hackett’s constant “suggestions” and assignments, but right now she’d give a lot for his willingness to let her call her own shots.

But Coats wasn’t either of those men, and she wasn’t that Shepard, as far as he knew. So she had to build her case carefully. “Sir, we know the geth were guarding the artifact, and they responded with hostility. My brother’s tests indicate the artifact is some form of communication device. If the geth are a threat, we need to know about it. I’m requesting resources suitable for investigating and scouting out this threat.”

Coats pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed, and then gave her a long look. “You want a ship.”

She tried not to show her eagerness. “I do believe that whatever the artifact is picking up does not originate on this planet, sir. Yes.”

“You realize making ship assignments is above my pay grade.”

“I understand that, sir.” She folded her hands in her lap, trying her best to look poised, calm, and serious. The last thing she needed was for someone to decide she was insane. But her fingers tightened around each other, and her heart was pounding.

The silence held for too long before Coats sighed, the corners of his mouth curling down. “I respect your conviction, but the Alliance has higher priorities.”

“Sir, the geth blindsided us before. We can’t afford to ignore them now.”

His eyebrows rose sharply. “Come now, Staff Commander. Surely you understand the galaxy is still in crisis. We have ships and infrastructure to repair, people to get home, dead to account for. We don’t even have a functioning galactic government, and we don’t know how long our current alliances are going to hold.”

Her guts churned with the urge to scream. She bit down on it and said, “I respect that, sir, but I think overlooking the geth puts us at considerable risk. We know they’re susceptible to Reaper control —”

Coats snorted. “I hate to say it, but the Reapers seem more an asset than anything else right now. At least they’re rebuilding. And minding their own damned business.”

Val’s teeth clenched hard enough that her jaw twinged as Coats went on: “If anything, I’m more worried about what that Cerberus operative Lawson was doing on Luna.” He tapped the datapad Val had turned in. “There are a lot of Cerberus sites available for looting. We can’t keep track of them all. That’s a lot of very dangerous tech floating around. If Lawson gets her hands on it, there’s no telling what she could do with it.”

The need to defend Miranda rose in Val’s throat, but she thought of Miranda’s cool demeanor in that lunar base, and uncertainty silenced her tongue. Miranda was a puzzle right now; Val couldn’t be sure what her motives were, or what Miranda might do with the technology she was acquiring. She’d as much as admitted she was collecting Cerberus’ leftovers.

It felt like a betrayal, but she said stiffly, “You may be on to something, sir.”

He regarded her curiously. “You’re eager for a mission, Shepard. Is that one you’d take on?”

She only hesitated for a moment. “Absolutely, sir.” It was no choice at all, really; she’d take the assignment if it got her the resources she needed. Once she was off-planet, then she’d decide whether to follow orders.

“Hm.” He frowned down at a datapad. “Duly noted. I’ll pass on your report, Shepard.”

That was apparently the best she was going to get. Val left, dismissed, her jaw tight.

Somewhere along the line, she’d become a terrible subordinate. Here she was, already contemplating disobeying orders she hadn’t even been given yet. On top of that, adopting a deferential pose chafed like ill-fitting boots. She’d gotten used to being a free agent — one of Cerberus’ strange gifts, even more than being Spectre. Chasing Saren, she’d had both the Council and Hackett giving advice. Chasing the Collectors, the Illusive Man had largely left her to her own devices. She wanted, now, to chart her own course, to have her own authority.

Maybe something would come of this meeting, but she couldn’t count on it. When she’d been grounded after Virmire, she and Anderson had worked together, disobeying orders, to get the _Normandy_ where it needed to be. They’d put their careers on the line. So had her whole crew. And if they hadn’t, the galaxy would have been neck-deep in Reapers hours later, completely unprepared.

Whatever Leviathan was planning, Val wasn’t sure she had time for the Alliance to make up its mind. It was time to work on Plan B.


	25. Chapter 24

“ _Normandy_ ’s docked up at the orbital station,” Steve told Val, spinning his half-empty glass idly. “Took some damage during the battle for Earth.”

“How serious?” she asked over the clamor of conversation. The Halfway Bar, as some marines had started calling it, was packed tonight, mostly by humans and turians, though she’d spotted a few salarians mixed in, and a couple of krogan doing shots over at the bar.

“Mostly during the retreat,” Steve said. “Had to make an emergency landing. The SR-2 was never built to handle a gravity well like that, so she’s up at the station for repairs. Are you interested in ships, Commander?”

Val shrugged, deliberately casual. She needed not to look too eager, or desperate. Definitely not desperate. When she’d stolen the _Normandy_ before, it had actually been her ship. Plotting to steal a ship without authorization or access was another ballgame entirely, and she needed every scrap of information she could get.

At the other end of the long booth, Talitha was telling James some story that required a lot of hand-waving and explosion sound effects. Misha, sandwiched between James and Steve, seemed to be drifting from one conversation to the other. Alex and Garrus hadn’t even arrived yet. They’d probably have to pull up more chairs.

“I’m a marine first,” she said, to Steve’s query. “But the _Normandy_ ’s special.”

“I’ll say.” Steve drank. “Best ship in the fleet.”

“I didn’t think Terra Nova had an orbital station.”

“It used to be small, just a bit of security for the colonists and mining companies. Most of it went up fast, after the attack on Eden Prime, or so I hear. They hoped it would encourage the colonists to stay. The station expanded a lot in the war, but it still doesn’t have enough repair bays for what’s in-system. They set up extra facilities on that asteroid, too.”

“X-57?” Val asked, startled. The sharp black horizon line of the asteroid flashed through her mind, and the planet, looming before them, too large, too bright, and her hands, white-knuckled on the Mako’s controls. Her jaw had ached for days afterward from clenching it.

Steve blinked in surprise. “That’s the one. You have quite a memory, Commander.”

Misha was looking at her curiously, too. Val tried to look relaxed. “Just one of those random things,  I guess.”

“Yeah, strange what people can remember sometimes.” Steve’s eyes went vague and unfocused for a moment, and then he shook his head. “What was I saying? Anyway. Ships too big to land, which is most of them, have to use the orbital repair docks. There aren’t enough repair crews, either. I hear since the relays are operational, any ships safe to make the jump or heading elsewhere for more extensive work.”

“Assuming there are shipyards elsewhere,” Val said.

Steve snorted. “That’s definitely a problem. Here’s hoping there’s something out there that the Reapers missed.”

“Do you know if the _Normandy_ ’s good to fly?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Misha sigh and slump back in his seat. James laughed uproariously at something Talitha said.

“She got us here,” Steve said. “Drive core’s fine as far as I know. Damage was mostly to hull and thrusters. Some electrical systems got overloaded. I’m not sure where repairs stand now. They’re not briefing a lowly lieutenant.” He cocked his head curiously. “Mind telling me why you’re asking?”

She just wanted to know how her ship was doing. And whether the _Normandy_ was spaceworthy, if Val needed her. Val shrugged again, taking a drink to buy herself a moment. “Just curiosity, I guess. She’s too good a ship to sit idle for long.”

“That’s for sure,” Steve said. “Don’t know if they’ve assigned a new captain, though. Or a pilot. Whoever it is will have a tough act to follow, on both counts.”

Misha nudged Steve with his elbow. “Hey, mind getting me another drink?”

“Sure, no problem.” Steve finished his own and stood, taking the two glasses back toward the bar.

Misha crossed his arms and looked at Val reproachfully.

“What?” she asked, prickling under his scrutiny. He couldn’t possibly suspect anything, could he?

“Are you going to monopolize the conversation all night?”

“What? No, what’s the problem?”

Misha sighed. “If you get him started on ships, he’ll keep going for hours, Val. Let me get a word in edgewise sometime, okay?”

“Oh,” she said, and “ _Oh!_ ” as it sank in. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Sorry, am I interrupting? Are you trying to put the moves on him?”

“There are no moves,” Misha said firmly. “I’d just like to have a conversation with an interesting and attractive guy, all right? Stop smirking at me.”

“Sure.” She tried and failed to control her expression. “Sure. I’ll just move over a seat, shall I?”

“You don’t have to move, just maybe don’t talk quite so much.”

Val stuck out her tongue. Misha rolled his eyes at her. She would have said something else, but Garrus’s looming appearance at her elbow distracted her.

“Mind if I join you?”  


“Not at all,” she said.

“No, come on, that seat’s free,” said Misha, waving at the seat next to Val.

Garrus settled into it easily and murmured greetings around to the rest of the table. “How was your debriefing?” he asked Val.  


She shrugged and took a drink. “About what we expected.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “About what you expected, at least.”

“Mmm.” Garrus took a drink, too. From the angle of his head, she was pretty sure he was scanning the room with his visor. He looked casual, in civvies instead of armor, even, but in her experience, he always had his eyes open for trouble. “Not a positive reception, then, I take it.”

“Not overly,” she agreed.

He nodded slightly.

“What’s up?” James said from the other side of the table, propping an elbow and leaning toward them. “You planning something, Commander?”

“Nah.” Val waved him off, flashing a smile. “Waiting on orders.”

He sat back with a grunt, seemingly satisfied.

“So you’ve all been on missions together?” Misha asked, frowning like he was trying to figure something out.

Damn. Hopefully Steve would get back to the table soon and distract him. Val glanced at Garrus, who watched her with his head tilted.

“A few,” he said.

“Huh. So it’s a cooperative thing with the Hierarchy?”

Val and Garrus exchanged looks again. His mandibles twitched in amusement, though she guessed no one else would recognize that. Maybe James. “You could say that,” she said.

“Huh.” Misha sat back, brow creased.

Val kept smiling, hoping they’d managed to deflect Misha’s curiosity. She didn’t like having to be so evasive with her little brother. His baffled expression was familiar enough that even this adult version of him didn’t seem like a stranger.

Steve returned then, fortunately for her nerves, but he was frowning as he passed Misha his glass.

“Something wrong?” Val asked.

“Those krogan are being a little belligerent.” He tilted his head toward the two krogan at the bar. One of the two pounded a fist and bellowed something; the other krogan scoffed, rocking back on his feet.

“They are _krogan_ ,” Garrus said. “Belligerent goes with the species.”

“Yeah, I know, just...” Steve shrugged. “You know how Wreav was talking, about making the whole galaxy pay for the genophage.”

“Wreav? That blowhard?” James shook his head. “Why worry about that asshole?”

“He’s in charge of the krogan,” Steve pointed out.

Garrus froze for a second, unblinking.

“He is?” James said, and shrugged. “I mean, I guess.” He scowled at his bottle of beer for a moment.

Garrus’s mandibles twitched. “Wreav’s a lot of bluster. I wouldn’t take him too seriously.”

“If you say so,” Steve said doubtfully.

Misha nudged his shoulder. “Hey. No need to worry about it now, right?”

“Sure.” Steve smiled.

“Wreav?” Val said to Garrus in an undertone, trying to ignore her brother and her shuttle pilot flirting right across the table from her. She wracked her brain, trying to piece together what she’d picked up earlier. “I thought Wrex was in charge?”

“He was,” Garrus muttered, equally quiet. “Though if reality can change on a whim, I guess all bets are off.”

“That’s great.” Val bit back the urge to swear, stealing another look at the two krogan, now laughing uproariously and slapping each other on the shoulders. “That’s all we need.”

“The thing is, krogan have numbers, but no ships,” Garrus said. “They haven’t had a space fleet since the Krogan Rebellions. They’re itchy for one now. The Hierarchy’s been stalling them.”

“They’ll get it somewhere else,” Val said. “Out of salvage, maybe. From Omega, or the Hegemony.”

“Yeah, if the batarians had anything left.” Garrus’s brow plates pulled down. “I’ll double-check Hierarchy intel in the morning. Make sure the galactic status quo is what we think it should be.”

“Might want to do that on a regular basis,” she said. “I’ll see what I can get from the Alliance, too.”

Garrus nodded. From the end of the table, Talitha shot them a questioning look. Val couldn’t muster up a reassuring smile. Were there any limits to the Leviathan’s ability to tinker with reality? If they could make things change, could she count on anything being the same tomorrow as it was today?

She needed to get out there and find them. She needed her ship. Val glanced toward the door, half-hoping Samantha had arrived.

No luck on that score, though she spied Alex making his way toward them.

Trouble was, everything she’d come up with was going to take _time_. Time to get EDI on board, time to steal access codes or hack their way through security. Time just to fill out the crew she needed to pull this off. She hadn’t even figured out how to talk to Steve or James about this yet without sounding deranged. They might be her friends now, but one slip and they could be reporting her to the brass, like dutiful Alliance marines. Or she’d have to find a way to incapacitate them, and that — she didn’t know if she could bring herself to do that.

So she had to get it right, the part where she explained and got them on board. Only one shot at it.

No pressure, or anything.

“Everything okay?” Garrus asked quietly.

“Great,” Val said through a forced smile. She glanced up as Alex pulled a chair up to the table, between Garrus and Talitha. “How’s it going?”

Alex slouched into the chair and drained half his glass. “Dead ends. Lots of them.”

Dark circles sat heavy under his eyes. Part of Val wanted to tell him to get out of here and get some rest. The frantic part of her wanted to haul him aside and demand details.

Later. To judge from the way Alex was blinking, he wouldn’t last long, so long as she kept him away from caffeine. For now, they should both try to relax. It was important to blow off steam, she reminded herself. Even in a crisis. She took a breath, took a drink, and tried to take some comfort in the company of her friends and family. Garrus at her side, and Talitha leaning over to whisper something in Alex’s ear, and James and Steve bantering back and forth over Misha’s head now, while Misha leaned closer to Steve’s shoulder. It was the next thing to a miracle that they were all here at the same table. She should appreciate it while it lasted.

The tension in her back and shoulders wouldn’t ease, though. In the back of her head, a dark little voice seemed to whisper that she could wake up tomorrow and find all of this too changed, all her efforts to plan warped as reality changed around her. Or maybe her enemy would get it right this time, and she’d forget, too, fade into the background and let the world move on without her.

Maybe she’d waited too long already, frozen into indecision.

A resounding crash made her jump. Breaking out of her gloomy thoughts, Val turned toward the noise. So did everyone else that she could see.

One of the krogan had shoved the other and sent him sprawling, knocking over a barstool and its occupant in the process. The downed krogan snarled and surged up off the floor, faster than anything that big had a right to move. He stopped, feet planted, jutting his head toward the other.

“Come on,” the other one growled. “Quadless. Humpless.”

The first krogan bared his teeth in a wide, jagged line. “You shoulda run away like the Nakmor. Weak.”

“Hey,” said the bartender. Her voice wavered She fumbled beneath the counter for a weapon, but hesitated, stiff and wary. Reasonable. One shotgun blast might just put one or both krogan in a blood rage, and everything would go downhill from there. The human who’d fallen from their stool scrambled away from the two krogan.

The other krogan spat something guttural that Val’s translator couldn’t catch. That couldn’t be good. She stood up.

“Shepard,” Garrus said, with a note of warning. Val kept her eyes on the two krogan, who’d locked eyes with each other and stood braced, unnervingly still. Around the room, a few other people got to their feet — James was halfway out of his seat, a couple of turians, a few other burly humans — but people seemed less willing to throw themselves into the path of two angry krogan than they had been to take down one armed human, the night before. Funny, that.

Val knew she could get there faster than anyone else could. She took two steps to the side, which gave her a clear line toward the bristling krogan and hurled herself straight at them.

She might have heard Garrus sigh, as if he’d been expecting this.

But by that point, she was already across the room, the dark energy channel throwing her between the two krogan, just like she’d planned. The aftershocks pushed both krogan back a step and rattled the glassware on the nearby counter.

“Hey,” Val said, smiling broad and tight to show most of her teeth. “Whatever your trouble is, why don’t you boys take it outside?”

The one with the orange crest snarled at her, the corners of his mouth curling. “Out of my way, filthy pyjak. When Wreav gets done with you humans —”

Yeah, that’s the way she thought this was going to go. Good thing she’d handled obstreperous krogan before. She wound up, bracing herself, and slammed her forehead square into the slope of his crest.

The krogan staggered backward, eyes wide and unfocused, more with shock than with pain. The shock spiked down Val’s neck, too, but she kept her teeth bared. Gasps rippled through the rest of the crowd. She ignored them.

“Get out,” she suggested.

The krogan stared at her for a long moment. She stared back, in spite of his wide-spaced eyes. His lip curled, and then sagged. He blinked, ducking his head and shoulders, accepting her authority.

The other krogan brayed with laughter until Val pivoted to turn her smile on him. “You too,” she said.

He smirked at her. “I like your style, human. Don’t worry, I’m going.”

The other one was already slinking toward the door. The second one followed him, casting one long grinning look around the room before strutting out.

Once the door had shut behind them, Val realized that she’d become the bright pinpoint focus of all the eyes in the room. Her skin flushed and then chilled under all that attention. Cheers erupted from several corners, James was grinning at her, and both of her brothers looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“Thanks,” said the bartender.

“No problem,” Val said, cautiously rubbing her neck. “Sorry if they didn’t pay their tab.”

The bartender shrugged. “Well, they didn’t break anything, or anyone. Your drinks are free, commander.”

She made her way back to her table as the usual barroom chatter started up. The guy who’d been knocked over clambered back to his feet as she passed, staring at her like she’d just pulled the sun out of her ass.

“Damn, Lola,” James said as she took her seat. “You sure showed them who’s got a quad.”

Garrus laughed. Val only smiled, still too aware of all the glances turned her way.

Misha, eyes still wide, leaned across the table toward her. “Val. Are you _okay_?”

“Fine,” she said, still rubbing the back of her neck.

“Are you _insane_?”

She shrugged, wincing when the movement pulled sore muscles. “I know a thing or two about krogan, that’s all.”

“A thing or...” He sat back, shaking his head. “ _How_?”

“Things you learn when you’re N7,” James said, nudging Misha with his elbow. “Right, Lola?”

“In your dreams, Mr. Vega,” Steve shot back. He gave Val a quick concerned glance. “You really okay, Commander?”

“I’m good.” Someone passing with a tray handed Val a glass. “Really.”

“She always says that,” Garrus said affectionately. “Showing them some krogan discipline, Shepard?”

She sent him a sideways smile. “Got to get through to them somehow.”

Laughter went up around the table. Even Misha relaxed enough to join in. Val sat back and drank, eyes widening as the shock of it burned down her throat and buzzed out along her nerves. Much stronger than what she’d been drinking. When she glanced toward the bar, the bartender gave her a half-assed salute before serving the next customer. Val shook her head and cautiously stretched out her neck and shoulders, trying to relax.

It could be her imagination, but something about the vibe of the place felt changed. Maybe it was just relief, to have a disruptive presence out of the way.

But Talitha, even though she was laughing at something James had said, kept darting sideways looks at Val. Looking around the room, she saw that Talitha wasn’t the only one. Admiring glances, respectful glances, wary glances; at any moment a good quarter of the people in the room were looking her way, usually just a quick look before returning to their conversations. It felt as though the room had tilted, all attention flowing toward her like water to a drain. Her skin prickled as if a sudden chill had blown across the room.

She knew this feeling, this awareness that everyone was aware of _her_. After the Battle of the Citadel, Commander Shepard hardly went anywhere without being recognized.

“Shepard?” Garrus said in a low voice.

She shook herself. Her attention had wandered from the conversation. Steve and James were arguing good-naturedly about something now, and she’d lost track of what. “I’m fine,” she said quietly.

“You looked lost for a second there.”

“Just thinking.”

“Deep thoughts?”

She snorted. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Garrus had leaned close to her, to keep their conversation quiet. When she turned toward him, his eyes were locked on her, crystal-clear blue and steady. The kind of focus that made her feel like she was the only thing that mattered in the universe. Val swallowed, suddenly keenly aware of his proximity; heat flushed through her and pooled in her gut, steady warmth buzzing under her skin. He was close enough to make out all the fine-grained, hairline scratches in his facial plating, close enough that she could rest her face against his just by leaning a little further.

And here they were in a crowded bar, with half the room looking at her every few seconds, with two of her brothers and her baby brother’s girlfriend sitting at the table. To say nothing of James and Steve.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Her throat tightened. She swallowed, hesitating, conscious of the hubbub of conversation around them. “Nothing serious.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, easing back into his seat.

“Listen,” Val said. “Do you want to —” and jerked her head toward the door.

“Do I...?” Garrus’ eyes darted sideways, following her movement. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

They finished up their drinks. Not too hastily, she thought, acting casual and sociable, and one by one made some excuses and headed out. She thought Alex gave them a pointed look as she followed Garrus, but everyone else seemed suitably distracted.

Her skin tingled in anticipation as she walked toward the door. As she reached it, the door opened, and Samantha Traynor walked in. “Oh! Commander.”

“Traynor,” Val said automatically, and then stopped, an awful cold certainty creeping in to kill her warm buzz. “Were you looking for me?”

“Actually... yes.” Samantha glanced around. “Our, um, mutual friend would like to talk to you.”

Hell. Val swallowed a curse, and put on a smile. “Well. No time like the present.”

Outside, Garrus detached himself from the shadows next to the entrance. “EDI?”

“Yeah,” Val said, relieved she didn’t have to explain.

“Want me to come along?”

“Sure,” Val said, and then had a thought. “As long as you get along with EDI, that is.”

Garrus laughed. “EDI and I get along fine.”

Garrus was the only one of them with a groundcar, a turian-made vehicle whose seats didn’t fit right and felt too far apart, creating too much space between her and Garrus. To distract herself, she told Samantha everything that had happened on the moon, with Garrus chipping in details as they went.

“I don’t know what to say about any of that,” Samantha said when they were done.

“I can’t blame you,” Val said.

“What are you planning to do?” Samantha asked. Her voice wavered a little, in the darkness of the car.

“Figure out where the Leviathan are and stop them,” she said, projecting confidence. “Hopefully EDI can help us.” She’d managed to sound strong and reassuring, or at least she hoped so.

“Hopefully,” Samantha echoed, and fell silent for the rest of their trip.

Inside Samantha’s office, a light indicated that her comm line was on, but no image showed on the screen.

“We only do audio,” Samantha explained. “Saves bandwidth. EDI? They’re here. The commander, and Garrus, too.” She gestured for Val to take the seat at the desk.

“Hello, Garrus. Commander Shepard,” EDI said.

“Hi, EDI,” Garrus put in. “Uh... how have you been?”

“I am operating within a normal range of functionality. I am arguably under-utilized while the _Normandy_ is under repair.”

Val frowned, trying to parse that. It sounded as though EDI was bored.

EDI continued, “Commander, Specialist Traynor said you wanted to speak to me. I am, however, curious how you came to be aware of my existence.”

Even listening hard, Val couldn’t read anything into EDI’s voice. The AI sounded as cool and collected as usual. Calm. Dispassionate. A lot calmer than Val felt. This mattered too much, and she didn’t have any handle on what EDI was thinking. “Hi, EDI. Samantha probably told you I was from an alternate reality.”

“She did. I wanted to hear what you would say.”

Val moistened her lips, considering her words carefully. “It turns out that’s not quite correct. I’m from an altered version of this reality. My brother — I think you know my brother —”

“Alexander Shepard. Yes.”

“He believes that a species called the Leviathan are re-writing reality for their own ends. In the reality I remember, I’m Commander Shepard. _The_ Commander Shepard. The _Normandy_ was my ship, and you were part of the _Normandy_ , just like now. The Leviathan changed all of that.”

“And created an entirely different Commander Shepard?” EDI said. “While leaving other galactic events intact?”

Val winced, even though EDI’s tone was still neutral. “I know it sounds outrageous.”

“It is difficult to believe, yes.” There was a minuscule pause. “Tell me about these Leviathan.”

She glanced at Garrus, who shrugged and nodded.

So she talked about the Leviathan, how she’d first encountered them through Bryson’s research, how she’d chased them down in the midst of the war, how she’d half-regretted finding them in the end. She told EDI about the geth and their artifact, about the one Liara must have had, about the attacks on her. She talked until her mouth was dry, and Samantha silently brought her a glass of water.

“That is an extraordinary story, Commander,” EDI said.

Garrus cleared his throat. “It’s true. From what I saw, and from the memories the Reaper unlocked for me.”

“Are you sure the Reaper did not implant false memories in your mind, Garrus? Perhaps copying them from the commander’s memories?”

“Copying them while changing the perspective to mine? Giving me memories of things she wasn’t there for? That doesn’t seem very likely, does it?”

“None of this seems very likely,” EDI said.

“That’s fair,” Val said. “I wasn’t sure what to believe myself. I thought I might be losing my mind.”

“That would be understandable,” EDI said. “I recall Dr. Bryson, however. I assisted John Shepard in Dr. Bryson’s lab.”

Val straightened, her pulse speeding up. “You did?”

“He asked me to assist in narrowing the array of possible locations for Bryson’s Reaper-killer, though we did not pinpoint a single location. We scanned several systems. I also remember his away mission to the mining station. He and Dr. T’Soni were there for nearly two hours. When he returned, he said it had been a dead end, and that there was no further need to pursue the Reaper-killer. There were more pressing considerations, he said. I accepted his judgment.”

“Did he bring an artifact back?” Val asked. “Was there one in his quarters?”

“The commander and Dr. T’Soni disabled all my surveillance in both his quarters and hers. I could not say.”

Stymied, Val sat back, chewing on her lower lip.

“However,” EDI said, her tone still calm and even, “that incident partially corroborates your otherwise implausible narrative.”

“Thanks, I think,” Val said.

“There is no need to thank me.”

Val sighed. “Whether you believe me or not, the Leviathan are a threat. One the Alliance is overlooking.”

EDI said, “My threat analysis programming agrees, assuming Bryson’s initial reports were correct. It is still difficult to believe an unknown alien species would have the resources to alter reality as you have described.”

“People didn’t believe in the Reapers, either.”

“I was going to say that, allowing for that hypothesis, my threat assessment becomes much more severe. However, I find it understandable that the Systems Alliance should prioritize more mundane necessities.”

“Pretending cosmic threats don’t exist is what got us into this mess in the first place,” Garrus said.

Val said, “I understand it, too, EDI. But I’m afraid of what the Leviathan might be doing while we try to pick up the pieces.”

A brief pause. “What are you asking me to do?”

 Relief unknotted the back of Val’s neck. “First off, we need to find where the Leviathan are now. Your analysis and processing abilities would be a big help.”

“I do not see any reason not to assist you in that endeavor,” EDI said.

Her tone was still neutral: not confident yet, not willing to promise anything. A careful, qualified offer. Val decided to push, just a little. “Once we know where they are, I’m going to need a ship.”

“Are you suggesting I go rogue?”

“Would you?” Val asked. “In a good cause? If we could make things better?”

This time EDI’s silence lasted several heartbeats. An eternity, for an AI. When she spoke again, she spoke noticeably more slowly. “I was never programmed to have loyalty to the Alliance,” she said. “But let us take things one step at a time.”

Val let out a breath. “Good enough.”

#

“Okay. One step in the right direction,” Val said after they stepped outside, leaving Samantha inside to finish her chat with EDI. At night, this section of camp, with its prefab office spaces, was poorly lit and nearly abandoned. She and Garrus stood alone at the center of a sprawl of dark squat buildings and narrow alleys.

“Mm,” Garrus said. “She doesn’t want to commit yet.”

“But she’s willing to help. We know she’ll be watching us. Hopefully we can trust that she’ll make the right choice based on what she observes.” Val frowned, an uneasy thought coming to mind. “Is there anything I should know about her in this reality? Anything that might be different?”

Garrus laughed, a hollow sound. “The last I knew, Wrex was in charge of the krogan. I don’t think you can rely on me as a guide any more.”

Val turned toward him, trying to read his expression. In the darkness, his face was all shadowed angles, and his voice sounded bleak. Fear and irritation rose in her throat; she needed him not to be riddled with self-doubt right now. “Don’t do that,” she said, taking a step closer. “I need you for this more than ever. You’re about the only thing that made sense in this reality, even before you got your memories back.”

“Easy, Shepard,” Garrus said. She could see his eyes now, pale in the shadows of his face as he looked down toward her. “All I meant was... if reality is changing under us, none of my memories might be accurate any more.”

“Oh. Right.” She swallowed, flushing as the righteous intensity ebbed. “You still knew him. The other Shepard.”

“I thought I did,” Garrus said. “Seems like he kept a lot from me.”

“The Leviathan might not have given him much choice.” She’d disliked John Shepard from the start, as soon as she found out how he’d done things; but how many of his choices had been driven by the Leviathan, not him? He was like her, a little, as much as she hated to admit it.

“Still,” Garrus said.

She sighed and nodded, unable to come up with anything more to say.

Garrus made something between a cough and a laugh. “At least it was a productive interruption.”

Val laughed faintly and rubbed the back of her neck, still feeling the embers of that earlier urgency. “Yeah, there’s that.”

“Still not the best timing, though.”

He sounded amused and rueful, unless she was projecting.

She hoped she wasn’t projecting.

She gave into impulse and reached for him, sliding her hand around his neck and stretching up to kiss him. A slow, exploratory kind of kiss; she nicked her tongue on one of his pointed teeth before they remembered the trick of it and he tilted his head. His arm curled around her, tentatively at first, then more firmly as she went with it, a sinewy pressure across her back as she leaned into him, rising onto her toes to get the full alien-familiar feel of his body against hers. She dug in her nails along the edges of the scales at the back of his neck, getting a stifled gasp for her efforts.

Good. She’d remembered he liked that.

Garrus pulled away from the kiss slowly. He still held her tight, her arms still looped around his neck. Her lips burned, her pulse pounded in her ears and her fingertips and her belly.

Maybe they hadn’t lost the moment after all.

“Shepard,” Garrus said, his voice low and rough.

“Garrus,” she replied. Her voice came out equally husky.

He sighed, a warm breath against her cheek. She shivered, and made up her mind. “Know anywhere we can take a little while alone?”

He lifted his head, glancing past her. “Break into an office?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Nice surprise for whoever clocks in in the morning.”

“We can clean up. Or I suppose there’s the car.” His mandible brushed her forehead as he spoke.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She tightened her grip, remembering light pouring into a rented skycar over the Presidium.

“True.” His laughter hummed through his chest and subvocals. She kissed him again, wanting to swallow it down.

They stumbled their way to the groundcar, arms wound around each other, tripping over each other’s feet. Garrus fumbled with the latch on the rear hatch while Val tasted the soft, pebbled skin of his neck. When the hatch finally popped open, Garrus stumbled, and she took advantage to push him onto the rear seat of the car and climb in after him. Climb onto him, letting the door automatically shut behind her, closing the two of them into the limited space.

Not as limited as in a human- or asari-made car, though; turian-made groundcars had more leg and head room. Val appreciated that; she only bumped her head once while Garrus struggled himself into a sitting position, pulling her with him.

“If everything’s going to change around us —” she said, between kisses to his face and neck, “— I want this again, I want something for us —”

“Yeah.” His voice reverberated, low, filling the space. He lifted a hand to her hair and hesitated, until she said, “Go for it,” and he tugged it out of its knot, pins scattering while he ran his fingers down the length of it.

Somehow he’d gotten his gloves off already. His hands were warm on the back of her head, and against her skin once he’d worked his way under her jacket and shirt. Hot, even; she imagined his hand print burning into her skin, and groaned, tugging at his shirt. She’d managed to get one clasp undone, but the next resisted, not made for her smaller, thinner fingers.

“That one’s always been stiff,” Garrus said, just as it gave, snapping back hard enough to sting her fingers.

Val yelped and stuck the wounded fingers in her mouth. She also snickered as his remark registered. “Oh, has it?” Balanced astride his lean thighs, she shifted closer.

Garrus groaned. “Guess I left myself open for that.” He reached for her waist.

“You know I always take an opening,” she said, and gasped when he unbuttoned her pants more quickly than she ever had and pulled them down over her hips, cradling her ass in both hands. She abandoned his shirt and reached for his belt.

That, at least, came off easier, but it was tricky to get enough of his clothes off while she was also scrambling to help him yank her pants and underwear down. Her boots hit the floor of the car with a thud, and she bumped her head on the roof again, almost biting her tongue in a breathless curse.

She landed back on his lap bare from the waist down, his skin rough under her thighs and the firm heat of him pressing against her.

At the back of her mind, a little voice wondered if they were moving too fast, too far, if they should have talked this out more first. She silenced it, as ruthlessly as she would a whining recruit. She wanted, he wanted, something normal, something _right_ , something that wasn’t calamity or crisis or a minefield shifting around them.

She reached between them, fumbling for a moment to line them up properly, and bit her lip as she sank down. As he pressed up and into her, full and hard and right on the borderline of _too much_. She rose up, shifted, settled down again, discomfort fading. Yes. Better. Garrus gripped her hips and they gradually fell into a rhythm, her jangled nerves settling, her body loosening, and it started to feel _good_ —

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his eyes pale and clear, locked on her face. She leaned forward, pressing her brow against his, and they held there for a long, tight-strung moment, where nothing mattered but the two of them.

She shuddered through her climax, eyes squeezed shut, and crumbled, her head dropping to Garrus’s shoulder while he found his own release. She stayed, boneless, her hair down around her shoulders, while he relaxed under her, their breath slowing down as they cooled off.

“It’s weird,” Garrus mumbled into Val’s hair.

A moment’s worry spiked through her haze. She lifted her head. “What’s weird? Not... this?”

He laughed, a puff of warm air against her ear. “No. Not this. When reality changes. No one else seems to notice, except you and me.”

“And Alex,” she said automatically. “Because of what happened on the moon, I thought.”

“And everyone else, their reality just changes, and they don’t even know it. How many times did that happen before? Were there other things you noticed?”

She frowned and pulled back. Absorbed in the warm glow, her brain didn’t want to re-engage, like a recalcitrant engine. “I’m... not sure. Maybe a few. I wasn’t always sure if I was remembering things right. But. Wait.” She straightened, galvanized, and squeezed Garrus’s shoulders. “James.”

He tilted his head. “What about him?”

“Remember tonight? He seemed surprised about Wreav, too. And his memories are coming back, but he wasn’t on the moon with us. So it can’t be that.”

“So it’s something else,” Garrus said.

“Talitha said... I was like a fixed point,” Val said. “The Leviathan tried to remove me, and they ended up rearranging things instead. I’m still here.” Her heart was pounding again, this time not from arousal. “So what if it’s me?”

Garrus’s eyes narrowed in thought. He hummed low in his chest. “Things move around you. Hmm. Maybe.”

“What if it’s... the time he’s spent around me?” Val shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t like thinking it’s all about me, but...”

“But it does seem like maybe it’s about you.” Garrus’s mandibles drew in as he thought. “You might be onto something, Shepard.”

She stared at Garrus, wide-eyed. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, his arms firm around her. The weight of the galaxy outside seemed to press in on them, vast and dark.

 


End file.
